


The Man Who Put New Orleans to Rest

by BambinaMio



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: AFAB reader - Freeform, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, I'm Bad At Tagging, Not terrible but still there, Physical Abuse, Racism, Sexual Content, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:00:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21606448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BambinaMio/pseuds/BambinaMio
Summary: Good evening, New Orleans! Three months ago someone from our wonderful cleaning staff almost met a grisly fate with none other than the Bayou Killer himself. Now, they believe to know who the man at large is: myself! Your beloved Radio host, Alistair McCarthy. Quite the accusation, is it not? Will our darling little maid prove their suspicions to be true? Stay tuned to find out.
Relationships: Alastor (Hazbin Hotel)/Reader
Comments: 70
Kudos: 599





	1. Le Debut

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! This is a fic I am working on with a close friend of mine. It's my first long fic in quite a long time, but I hope you all will enjoy it nonetheless. You can find me over at hazbinhotelandchill on tumblr, where I write short (HA) drabbles and headcanons for all the Hazbin cast! Feel free to come say hi and discuss the fic with me, I promise I don't bite... much.

Three months. 

It had been three months since your life had nearly ended, your story a slapped-on headline in the papers as just another victim to the Bayou Killer. At least, that's what you assumed; your memories of the night were foggy at best. 

You could remember the night air on your skin, the way the breeze rustled your hair. You recalled the dread in your gut as you realized someone was following you, their footsteps echoing in unison with your own. You remembered how their hand grasped your wrist so tight it cut off circulation making your fingers go numb. 

But the one thing you remembered above all else was the voice that had spoken to you. A distinct voice laced with a smile, a smile that colored their every word: “You're out awful late, my dear.”

It had been a man, that much was clear, but it had been dark, the moon tucked away behind thick clouds from a Gulf storm, so you hadn't been able to make out his face. In that moment you had believed your life to be over- foolish of you to think a night stroll would end any differently with a serial killer on the loose. But Lady Luck had different plans: you had managed to escape. A dog chasing a cat scrambled between both your feet while barking wildly. With your attacker startled, you had the perfect chance to run- and run you did. As fast as your legs could carry you, you made a mad-dash all the way until you reached the door of your home, your body soaked in sweat. 

It had taken you days before you had felt comfortable leaving, fear and anxiety anchoring you to your home. Even then, you had found yourself jumping at sudden sounds or feeling too scared to look out the window at night, in fear your attacker would be standing just outside. Your husband, a simple man you had run away with shortly after you had turned eighteen, had told you that you were simply paranoid, that it had probably been nothing. Perhaps the man had just wanted directions. 

But you knew better. 

The man who had grabbed you had radiated ill intent; you could almost feel the chaos and violence seep into your numbing wrist as he held you. It was like a miasma permeating the air around him, suffocating all who came near him with its vile nature. If those animals hadn’t come, if you hadn't escaped, you’d be dead. There was no questioning it.

Letting out a soft sigh, hands grasping either side of your sink, you stared at your reflection in the mirror. Even with three months behind you, you still thought about the night often. It was hard not to, especially with your new job starting today- your first job ever, actually. Money was starting to get tight, and with your husband’s gambling addiction steadily getting worse, you were fighting to make ends meet. Now, it wasn't the job itself making your memories of that night resurface, it was when you would be leaving said job that was making it difficult to stomach.

You had been hired at a fancy hotel not too far from your home as part of the cleaning staff, and unfortunately for you, they had all the morning staff they needed. They needed you in the evenings, which meant you’d be walking home at night after each shift. Alone.

“(Y/N)? Are you in there?” A knock at the bathroom door pulled you from your thoughts, your eyes shifting from your reflection to the door behind you. “It's almost time for you to leave.” Gathering your strength, you pushed yourself off the sink, giving your reflection one last lingering glance before you walked to the door.

Opening it, you were met with the face of your husband, Harry. He was a shorter man, not too much taller than you, with messy brown hair and pale green eyes. He was unshaven, but couldn't really grow much of a beard, and the circles under his eyes made him look older than he actually was. A small smile brightened up his tired features as he looked you up and down, taking in your work uniform. You tried your best to return it in kind.

“How do I look?” You asked, motioning down at your outfit. It wasn't anything special, just a simple white button-up shirt and a dark skirt. Yet, it made you look official: something you could find a bit of pride in. Harry signaled for you to spin, and so you did, feeling your long skirt lift slightly with the movement as it brushed up against your ankles. 

“Stunning,” Harry took your face in his calloused hands- even washed you could smell machine oil on them- before giving you a soft kiss atop your forehead. Placing your hands on his, you held him there for a moment, using the contact as a way to quell the anxiety swirling in your gut. Everything would be fine, you tried reassuring yourself. This was something you had to do: bills needed to be paid. Sure, Harry’s mechanic work helped, but it wasn't enough to cover the bills alongside his constant gambling.

Letting your hands fall to your sides, you followed Harry out of your shared room. Your home was small, quaint- decorated with what little belongings you owned. When you and Harry had run away together, you hadn't had much, and over the years you hadn't really had the chance to acquire much else besides the essentials. But it was still a home, and that was good enough for you. 

Stopping in your kitchen, you opened your refrigerator door to grab the lunch you had prepared for yourself earlier, just a simple sandwich and some fruit. Harry met you by the front door, your bag in his hand and a confident smile on his face. You took your bag from him. While placing the strap on your shoulder, you began giving yourself one last mental pep talk. 

As if hearing your thoughts, Harry wrapped his arms around you, pulling you in close. “Everything is going to be alright.” he said, hands running through your hair, trying his best to soothe the worries from your mind, “They’re gonna love you- who wouldn’t?” While a few people came to mind, you tried your very best to take his words to heart, to hold them close and accept them as truth, but your anxieties were ruthless. Slowly they ate away at your resolve, making it harder to leave your home. 

Despite this, you nodded your head. You wouldn't tell him how afraid you were, how absolutely terrified you were of the idea of walking home alone at night again. In all honesty, he'd probably brush those worries to the side just like he did the incident itself. You were positive he simply thought you were just nervous to be starting a new job- something you never had. Those worries were there too, of course, but they were nowhere near in strength compared to the thought of hearing that voice again with no dog and cat in sight to save you this time.

Holding you at arms-length, Harry gave you one more glance over before leaning in close to kiss your lips. It was soft, warm, his scruff tickling your face. He held you there for a minute, before letting go and opening the door for you.

“I'll see you tonight, alright? Maybe I can nab some of that wine you like to celebrate later.” You nodded your head, barely processing his last statement. He wasn’t going to get it anyways. Bidding your husband farewell, you walked into the busy streets of New Orleans.

The city was bustling, people from all different walks of life cluttering the streets. With everything around you so busy and lively, it made your worries seem all the more real yet insignificant. It was mid-afternoon, the sun high in the sky without a single cloud for shade, but the heat was bearable due to the winter season. Your shoes clicked against the concrete as you walked, maneuvering through the crowd the best you could. You were fairly good at it, having lived in the city for the past few years, but you still managed to bump into people on occasion and whenever you did you'd mutter out a quick apology. 

The walk wasn't a long one, only around a half-hour, and it was pleasant. Pleasant enough to help ease your nerves a tad. As you rounded a street corner, your eyes settled on a tall, elegant building with a large sign above the front doors that read ‘Le Debut’. A smile crossed your face, just seeing the hotel made your job feel official now. With a newfound pep in your step, you quickly made your way to the hotel, to your new life. 

A man dressed in uniform opened the door for you as you neared, giving a slight bow when you were directly in front of him paired with a small “Ma’am.” It surprised you: you knew the hotel was on the fancier side but you hadn't expected this. You thanked the man, walking through the door only to once more be caught off guard. The lobby was beautiful, dressed from top to bottom with elegant red and gold furnishings complemented by white marble floors and a decorated high ceiling. You couldn't help your wide-eyed looks as you glanced around, every direction offering something for the eyes to feast upon. When you had contacted them for the position, you had done so over the phone, so you hadn't been to the hotel yet. To say it exceeded your expectations was an understatement. 

After your quick peek around, you walked up to the front desk where the man behind the counter looked up at you and smiled. His nametag read ‘Charles’. “Hello and welcome to Le Debut. What can I help you with today?”

“I'm (Y/N),” you explained. “I'm the new cleaning help. I was told to meet with a Miss Ables today.” Charles’ expression lit up as he nodded enthusiastically. He turned to walk to a door behind the desk, calling out for someone named Roger. After a minute, another man walked out in the same white and gold-trimmed uniform. 

“I'm going to take (Y/N) here to Avis so I'll be right back.” Roger nodded, lacking in Charles’ enthusiasm- making it a little clear why he wasn’t at the front desk. Charles then walked out from behind the desk, motioning for you to follow him. He led you through the equally ornate halls while chatting with you about the hotel and what you could expect while you worked here. “The people who usually stay here are all fairly respectful, so they never leave the rooms in too much disarray. And you're just going to love working with Avis: she's a real peach.”

You stopped in front of a door, which he unlocked with a key he pulled from his pocket. Opening the door, you walked into a small room filled to the brim with supplies of all different kinds. “Avis?” Charles called, looking around for the woman in question. 

“Coming.” The word was almost sung, and from behind a shelf popped a petite looking woman with wild red curls pushed back out of her face with a black headband. She was short, you assumed around five foot, and her baby blue eyes were big and curious. She looked from Charles to you, her eyelashes batting. Then, just like that, her expression lit up in realization. Avis’ hands balled up in front of her chest from excitement, “You must be the new hire!” Her accent was thick- Scottish, you thought, although you weren't quite sure. She walked up to you and took your hands, smiling brightly at you. “It is an absolute pleasure to make your acquaintance, love.” 

“It's good to meet you too, Miss Ables.” She laughed; it was light, airy, a pleasant sound that made you smile. 

“Please, you may call me Avis.” She gave your hands a squeeze before letting them go, turning to Charles. “Thank you for bringing her here, Charles. I pray your family is doing well.” Charles beamed, giving a vigorous nod of his head. He looked about ready to say something before he paused and laughed.

“They are doing great, but I really must be going. Roger will have my head if I take too long.” He gave the two of you a wave, before turning on his heel to walk out the door. Alone with Avis, you turned to her with a sheepish smile, not sure what you should do next. Giving you a reassuring smile, Avis motioned for you to follow her as she went back behind the shelf she originally popped out of.

Following her, you watched as she stepped onto a stool, still needing to stand on her tippy-toes to reach a batch of paper towels on the top shelf. “Our job is a simple one,” she began, handing you one roll as she grabbed another. “The morning staff gets most of the rooms during their shift while we pick up where they left off in order to keep all the hotel facilities clean.” Carefully stepping down from the stool, Avis straightened her skirt before smiling up at you. “Today we shall focus on showing you around the hotel so you may get used to your surroundings. It is not a complex layout, but should you ever need to find your way around on your own it would be best if you had an idea of where everything is.”

You nodded, following her to a corner where a cart was placed. It had trash cans, towels, and a slew of other cleaning supplies all crammed onto it. Avis motioned for you to place the paper towels onto the cart. After you did so she, with some struggle and a little “oomph,” began to push the cart out of the room. 

“Oh!” Avis stopped short, clasping her hands together. “You can put your things over on this table alongside mine. Only employees have entry into this room so your belongings will be safe here while we work.” You nodded, walking over to the table she pointed out, you set your things down. Then you followed behind her, listening to her as she chatted away.

She had an elegant voice you noticed; she spoke with such poise, each word crafted on her lips with care. Despite her accent, you had no trouble understanding what she was saying. It was thick, but not so much so it obscured her words. You enjoyed listening to her talk because her voice carried a passion most individuals lacked. It was pleasant- she was pleasant, comforting. Having someone like her as your guide made you feel grateful, happy even.

It was almost enough to ease your worries about walking home. Almost.

Avis led you through the halls, pointing out different facilities within. There was a bar, tucked away in a small room off to the side of the lobby. There was a man behind the counter, setting up for the night ahead whom Avis greeted cheerfully. Next, she showed you the ballroom; it was much larger than you were expecting, the ceiling, surpassing the lobby’s, soared high above you. Avis explained it wasn't used so much anymore. Back in the 20s, before the economy started crashing, the hotel hosted all-night parties thronged with people almost every weekend. Now, they were lucky to host a party once a month, if that. Even then the capacity, the life, never reached the same magnitude as it did back in the day. Hearing her words of its glorious past echo against its walls made you almost feel as though you were walking through something abandoned.

“Now, there is one more place I would love to show you before we begin with our cleaning for the day.” Delight glittered in her eyes as she continued to push the cart, a bit of a pep in her step that hadn't been there before. Curiosity burned in your mind as you followed her; she was obviously excited to show you something, and you wondered what it could be. Perhaps a pool? Though it really wasn't the proper season to be swimming. Maybe a library… Did hotels even have libraries? You followed her, her excitement rubbing off on you. Whatever it was, it clearly made her happy, so why couldn't it do the same for you?

She took you towards the back of the hotel, down a few hallways. She pushed the cart up against the side of the hall then quietly approached a door. She held a finger to her lips. You nodded. You felt the excitement tightening your shoulders as Avis carefully opened the door. 

Inside was a medium-sized room. All along its walls were big machines with strange lights and knobs the likes you had never seen before. A few people stood around them, but your attention was quickly drawn to a man sitting down at a table towards the back of the room. In front of him was a large microphone, a few papers scattered about the table. 

“This is WKLC Le Fin, the Crescent City’s number one spot for news and entertainment!” His voice echoed through your ears, resonating in your mind. “It’s another beautiful evening here in New Orleans, and we've got quite the show set up for you folks tonight.” You stared at the man at the table, transfixed. He was tall. You could see his long legs crossed under the table, one foot gently bobbing up and down as he relaxed in the chair. His dark hair, adorned with strands of copper red, was slightly tousled but still cropped neat. Visually, he was quite attractive, with a smile so charming you were sure it’d win the heart of millions. He must have known it too because his smile not once wavered as he spoke. Yet that wasn't what struck you. “I’m your host, Alistair McCarthy, and I hope you all will join me for the wonderful show we have set up for you tonight.” His voice-- why did it sound so familiar?

Your husband and you had never owned a radio before, so it wasn't like you ever had the chance to hear his show. But you knew his voice, there was no doubt about it, you just couldn't place where you had heard it before.

“This is the best part of the hotel, my absolute favorite,” Avis whispered, making sure she wouldn't disturb anyone in the room. You looked at her, noticing the giddy expression on her face. “They started a few years back. It is one of the best radio stations New Orleans has to offer, all thanks to Alistair. He is beyond wonderful.” There was a dreamy sort of look in her eyes as she admired the man seated at the table. You wanted to share in her enthusiasm, but instead, only unease filled your gut. You turned back to look at Alistair only to see his eyes transfixed on you as he continued to speak into the microphone- smile still present. From the corner of your eye, you saw Avis wave, making Alistair’s smile widened as he returned it in kind— his gaze still trained on you. “Let us go now,” Avis whispered, hand on your shoulder. You nodded, slowly turning away. Even then, you still sensed his eyes fixated on you.

As Avis closed the door, your mind still desperately grasping at memories to try to place the voice, you heard Alistair say, “As you all know, the Bayou Killer is still very much at large-” The Bayou Killer- that voice. You felt the gears in your head click to a halt as you froze in your tracks just outside the door. Your heart sputtered to a stop as Alistair’s words seemed to grow louder: “-several bodies have already been found in the swamps surrounding the city, with many still missing.” Your lips parted. Panic flowed through every inch of your body. Memories of that night three months ago flashed by like someone fanning the pages of a picture book- _“You're out awful late, my dear.”_

It had to be him.

No.

It _was_ him.

As Avis closed the door, you took the time to spare one more shaky glance back at Alistair. Catching your gaze, his smile widened as far as it could. He waved. It was the last thing you saw before Avis closed the door, it’s clicking queuing in the crashing of the world around you.


	2. Radio Hosts Do Take Breaks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's a bit late lovelies, but it's a bit longer than the first chapter so I hope that makes it up to you! Also, I've gone and created a discord server for this fic! If you'd like to join, here's a link: https://discord.gg/cxA4bEP Come chat with me and the co-writer, as well as a bunch of other Hazbin fans!

You needed to do something. You _had_ to do something. You knew who your attacker- and possibly the Bayou Killer- was, where he worked. He sat right there in a little room at the back of Le Debut, putting on a glamorous show for all the people of New Orleans. Your mind flashed to the Bayou Killer’s articles in the newspapers, of how gruesome the murders were. You couldn't let him kill anyone else, you needed to alert the authorities.

But what would you tell them? That one night three months back someone attacked you and you heard their voice, and that voice just so happened to belong to the number one radio host in New Orleans- the most listened to voice in the entire city? Would they even believe you? No, probably not. They'd brush you aside as Harry had done. Despite it all, you couldn't let Alistair go scot-free. 

“(Y/N)?” Perhaps, someone else in the hotel knew something. It was possible. Someone had to be close to this man and they’d probably be your only lead. “Love, is everything alright?” You needed to find them, hunt them down and demand answers, beg they help you take down this monster. But so many people worked in the hotel, how could you find the one you needed? 

Suddenly, a hand was placed on your shoulder making you jump. Eyes wide, you looked at the hand then up to the person it belonged to. Avis looked at you with concern in her baby blue eyes, her smile soft. “You appear a bit out of sorts. Do you feel quite alright, dear?” You cleared your throat before giving a nod of your head. Looking away from her down at the bed you had been making, you saw the sheets were still in a state of disarray. It was as if you hadn't done a single thing. 

Sighing, you leaned down to begin making the bed in earnest. “I've just got a lot on my mind,” you explained, fluffing the pillows before neatly setting them against the headboard. Avis nodded, walking to the other side of the bed and helping you pull the sheets up, her small hands smoothing out all the wrinkles on her side. You did the same. After smoothing them out, you two finally placed the comforter on top: the bed was completely made. 

“Is this your first time working?” Avis asked as she gathered up the cleaning supplies. The room you had been cleaning was finished now without a speck of dust or grime to be found, making you feel all the worse because Avis had done most of it while you spaced out- thoughts consumed by Alistair. You'd have to do better next time.

“Yes,” you explained, opening the door to the hallway for Avis as her hands were full. Outside, the cart was waiting for you. She began to place the supplies back onto it, you helped by plucking some things out of her arms, “My husband and I are beginning to run into a bit of financial trouble, so when I saw that the hotel was hiring I figured it'd be best if I also got a job.” 

You didn't want to tell her why you were having financial trouble; in all honesty, you were a bit ashamed of your husband's gambling addiction. He had never had issues with gambling before, but a little over a year ago he suddenly picked up the habit. You had begged him numerous times to stop or at least refrain from going as much, but he never listened. He just kept telling you it'd all be worth it once he won big. Then, you could follow your dreams, and he'd be there to support you all the way.

“I see.” Avis gave a nod of her head, an understanding smile laced her lips. “My partner and I have also found ourselves in financial trouble over the years. With this economic depression, many people are struggling.” She sighed softly, the words heavy on her shoulders, but then she shook her head as if trying to brush them off. She bounced her shoulders a bit, “Fortunately, the hotel treats their staff kindly. I am certain you will find yourself having no trouble at all adapting.”

She thought you were worried about your job. Good, you would never really tell her what made you so nervous. The way she looked at Alistair-- she clearly admired him, and you doubted she'd believe you if you told her of your suspicions that Alistair was the malicious Bayou Killer. 

You followed Avis to the next room, but as she went to open it with the keys, the door refused to budge. A soft huff escaped Avis’s lips. She tried again. Nothing, it still wouldn’t move. Pursing her lips, Avis placed her hands on her hips while one foot tapped. She stared at the door like a disappointed mother as she thought. 

“It appears I must discuss this with the maintenance staff,” she said after a moment, turning around and hooking the keys back onto the cart. “Will you be a dear by staying with the cart? I shall only be a moment.” You nodded your head; yeah, you could do that. Though, you were a little nervous to be alone- what if you ran into Alistair?

You shoved those thoughts to the side. Running into Alistair was highly unlikely. He was busy and would continue to be for the rest of the night. Did he even take breaks? You pondered this as Avis made her way down the hall, turning a corner thus disappearing from sight. 

The hall was quiet as you stood there, checking over the supplies on the cart. A slew of different cleaners riddled the top, ones you'd never heard of before, and you were sure you weren't likely to run out of garbage bags anytime soon. Then again, there were plenty of rooms to tend to and each room had a garbage can. Dirty white sheets filled the makeshift hamper. _We should stop by the laundry room and empty it soon_ , you thought. 

You absently stood there for a short amount of time when you heard footsteps. Raising your head, dread quickly settling in your gut, you looked down the hall, waiting. What if it was Alistair? What if he knew you were the one that had escaped him that night and he wanted to finish what he had started? Your breath caught, fearing the end was close you managed to move your stiff arm to reach for the ring of keys hooked onto the cart. They jingled as your fingers brushed up against them.

Relief rushed through your veins as the person came around the corner: it wasn't him. Your arm fell back to your side. As your heart began steadying its beating, the person who had rounded the corner turned to you. It was Roger, or at least that's what you thought his name was. You recognized him as the unhappy man who had been behind the desk with Charles when you first arrived at the hotel. He spotted you, but before you could say anything you saw his face turn to one of disdain. Well, that wasn't good.

“What are you doing?” His voice was callous and cruel. He looked at you as if you were just a roach on the wall. As he walked towards you, you stuttered around words, excuses- explanations? It wasn't like you were doing anything wrong, you were just waiting for Avis to get back. In front of you now with nothing but displeasure on his face, Roger sneered, “Well? Are you going to say anything or are you just going to open and close your mouth like a fish?”

You were completely taken aback. Had you done something to upset him? You didn't know how that was even possible, seeing as you hadn’t even spoken two words to the man. Nonetheless, he was clearly displeased with you for some reason as he impatiently waited for your response.

“I-I was just waiting for Avis to get back.” Your voice came out weaker than you had intended. Roger’s lip curled up in disdain, his eyes narrowing down at you. It made you feel so small to be looked at like that- like a fish in a barrel. You didn't care for it at all.

“So, just because Avis isn't here to hold your hand like a toddler you can't do your job?” You wanted to tell him no, that you couldn't do your job without Avis because not only was this your first day, but she also had gone to find someone to fix the jammed door. But something told you if you did tell him that, it would just make him angrier to the point of dragging out this encounter that you already desperately wanted to end.

You were trying to come up with something to say when a sudden familiar figure rounded the corner at the end of the hall. Once again relief- real relief- rushed through you. Avis spotted you and Roger and you saw a momentary flash of surprise on her face, but then her lips turned down into a frown.

“Roger? What are you doing here?” At the sound of his name, Roger looked over his shoulder, and you could have sworn you saw him roll his eyes. He crossed his arms in front of his chest, turning his body to face Avis. Grateful his attention was no longer on you, you still couldn’t help but worry he’d turn his irritation onto Avis. 

She didn't seem worried, however, walking up to him with poise and grace as he basically spat his words in her direction, “I was just asking (Y/N) here the same thing.” Avis stopped in front of him, glancing back at you. Though it was brief, it was comforting: reassuring you that everything would be fine. 

“She was waiting for my return,” she explained, voice even, calm. Her unwavering gaze never left his despite the way he looked down on her; she wasn't even fazed. “The door to this room was jammed. So, I left to find someone from maintenance to attend to it. We do not need a broken door with a dirty room behind it, do we?” 

“And you couldn't have had her doing _anything_ while she was waiting?” Your gaze shifted from Roger to Avis, your nerves slowly nearing the edge again. Tension filled the air, although it seemed to be coming solely from Roger. Avis seemed unaffected by his sour attitude, remaining the same gentle, endearing person. 

“Roger, this is but her first day. It would be unkind to ask her to work on her own when she only just started.” Roger scoffed. How he managed to be this rude to someone like Avis was a mystery to you. He reminded you of your parents; cruel, arrogant, and generally just unpleasant. 

“I would surely hope that she'd be capable of _cleaning_ on her own.” He shook his head before waving his hand dismissively. “Whatever, do what you want. It doesn't matter to me.” Roger turned on his heel then, sneering down at you once more as he walked around you. You averted your gaze, choosing instead to look at Avis. She was looking at you, a gentle smile on her face, and as Roger walked further away from you, she stepped towards you. She placed a hand on your shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. 

“Come, love. It will take them a bit of time to fix the door. Let us go take a short break to refresh and nourish ourselves.” You nodded, returning her smile, though you were still fairly on edge. It was clear Roger didn’t like anyone and was simply a rude person in general. So, you weren’t as upset by it, but it still wasn’t a good feeling to being treated so poorly.

Pushing the cart for Avis, the two of you made your way down the hall, thankfully in the opposite direction that Roger had gone. You walked around the corner, to the elevator. Waiting outside the doors, Avis softly hummed to herself, rocking gently back and forth on her heels. After taking the elevator down to the first floor, you two walked through the halls to the room you had first met Avis.

Avis unlocked the door, holding it for you as you pushed the cart through. “If you could, please push the cart into the corner over there. Then, grab your lunch. I will take you to an absolutely delightful place where we may share a meal.” While you pushed the cart into the corner she pointed you to, she walked over to the table where your belongings sat. She grabbed her lunch, and you grabbed yours after you had gotten the cart situated. 

You followed Avis, and were surprised when she led you to the lobby and out the front doors. After Avis chimed a quick ‘We shall return!’ to Charles who waved you two off, you asked “Where are we going?” followed by a quick ‘thank you’ you said over your shoulder to the man who opened the door for you two. He tipped his hat to you.

“I am taking you to my favorite little place,” she chimed, a bit of a hop to her step. You wondered briefly where that could be- and part of the reason it was so brief was that this place was only a few buildings down the street. Avis brought you to a little French bakery, one with seating areas both indoors and out. It wasn't terribly busy, with only a few couples sitting together inside. 

There wasn't anyone waiting in line at the counter, but you and Avis didn't step right up to it. Instead, she took you to the display case to the side of it. You watched as her blue eyes glittered in delight. “Ohh, I absolutely adore the pastries here.” She ghosted her fingernail along the casing as she looked over each pastry. She stopped, popping her excited gaze over to you, “You must try one, love- I insist, please! In fact, I will even buy you one!” Taken aback by her offer, you blinked in surprise, eyes shifting from her to the case.

Everything looked delicious; they had a wide array of treats, most of them you had a hard time pronouncing, but they still looked good. “Are you sure?” You asked, looking back over to her. She nodded enthusiastically, red curls bouncing around her face. You smiled and turned back to the case.

You decided on an éclair, something you weren't terribly unfamiliar with, while Avis ordered several different flavors of macarons and glasses of water for the both of you. The two of you made your way to one of the tables towards the front of the store. With your back to the door, you sat across from Avis, taking your lunch out of your bag and setting it up nicely on the table. Avis did the same, and the two of you carried a pleasant conversation. 

As you two chatted, you heard the door’s bell ring behind you. While Avis glanced over your shoulder, you grabbed your glass of water, bringing it to your lips as her eyes lit up in recognition. You wondered who it could be as you began to swallow until a voice interrupted your thoughts.

“Avis, my dear!” **No**. Your eyes shot open. Your heart skidded to a stop, and all at once you began sputtering and coughing. The water stinging the back of your throat, you jerked the glass back from yourself in such a way some water splashed onto your shirt. Avis reached out for you, asking if you were okay, but you weren't. It was him. It was Alistair. 

What were you going to do? You couldn't be this close to him- what if he found out it was you: the one who escaped? That you knew who he was? Panic filled your gut as you continued to cough into one hand, using the other to wave in Avis’s direction to show you were fine. You weren’t fine. You heard him walking up behind you making every muscle in your body grow taught. Your hair on the back of your neck stood on end as, from the corner of your eye, you watched him stand next to your table. Next to _you_. 

Then- _then_ \- he placed a hand on your tense shoulder, and you damn near almost _whimpered_. “My, my! Are you alright my dear?” You couldn't look at him. Fear glued your gaze to the table. Your voice was caught in your throat. You didn't even know if you should risk speaking around him- what if he recognized your voice too? Stiffly, you nodded your head in response to his question, frightened that no response at all would look suspicious. 

You could have sworn his fingers lingered as he pulled away, seeing in your peripheral that his body shifted to face Avis. Your gaze shifted up to her. Oh, how you wished her sympathetic smile gave you more comfort than it did. Her attention was drawn away from you when she realized Alistair was facing her, her gaze turning from you to look up at him. 

“I was absolutely delighted that you stopped by the station earlier, my dear. Your very presence never fails to put a smile on my face, you know.” Avis giggled at this, giving a small shake of her head.

“Love, you are always smiling.” You heard him chuckle, and the sound sent a small shiver down your spine. It sparked a memory of that night; your quiet sobs between desperate pleas, his dark laughter as you frantically tried to free yourself from his grasp. Anxiety clawed at your mind- at your entire body- as your leg began bouncing under the table.

“And should that ever change I'll know exactly where to go to get myself dressed right back up again!” You wondered what he meant by that, rubbing idly at your wrist. You could almost feel his fingers on your skin, and you dared a glance over at his hands. His fingers were long, slender, his nails neatly trimmed and free of dirt. 

“You are very sweet in saying so.” You wondered if one of those hands was the very one that had held so tightly to your wrist. If both of them were responsible for all the unnecessary death in New Orleans. You imagined them covered in viscera, stained red with blood. “Now, I ask you to not keep me waiting in suspense any longer! Have you finished it?”

Finished it? Finished what? Your gaze shifted to Avis, noticing how her big baby blues were full of excitement. “Oh, dear, you simply must forgive me! But I just haven't had the time. It is hunting season after all, which is quite a busy time of year for me.” Of course, he hunted. You imagined that he must have enjoyed cutting up defenseless animals as much as he enjoyed cutting up defenseless people. 

“I suppose I must forgive you, though it saddens me that we will not be able to discuss it. Truly, Fitzgerald simply outdid himself with this piece.” You perked up at the name, realization coming over you. If you remembered correctly, Fitzgerald was the name of an author. It was likely then they were talking about books or some form of literature at the very least. 

The two of them fell into leisurely conversation after that. He was so- _cheery_ , his voice boisterous and, well, captivating. Though you hated to admit it, the longer you listened to him talk away, the more you understood just why he was New Orleans’ most listened to radio host. On top of that, he clearly had an addictive charisma; the way he talked, the words he chose, it all added to his charming radio host persona he put out.

But all this only made you more uneasy, incredibly so. No one would ever believe you if you said Alistair had attacked you, let alone that he was potentially the Bayou Killer. He would easily continue avoiding the police’s investigations, never once falling under suspicion, because why would anyone suspect the likes of him? A charming, captivating man who innocently chatted away with some maid about _books_. No one, that’s who.

He was a danger, you knew that now more than ever. 

“I heard they found another body.” Having lost focus of what they were saying exactly at some point, the second these hushed words left Avis’s lips your attention snapped back into focus. You knew exactly what they were talking about. 

“You heard right I’m afraid. It was terribly gruesome too from what I've been told.” Your gaze, having been set on your abandoned food, shifted over to Alistair's hands again. Underneath the table, your fingers lightly ran back and forth along your wrist. 

“How awful.” Briefly, you wondered just how awful it had been. You once again recalled reading numerous articles in previous papers about the states the victims had been in. Always mutilated, often missing limbs and organs. You shivered at the thought, fingers curling around your wrist; that could have been you. “My heart aches for the victim’s family. What kind of person takes pleasure in doing something so terribly cruel?”

Suddenly, the hair on the back of your neck stood back on end. Goosebumps began to rise on your skin. Your throat went dry. Alistair was looking at you. You could feel his eyes on you, observing you as he spoke: “Only the worst kind I can imagine.” 

Slowly, your gaze shifted up, following the buttons of his vest and passing his bowtie until you met his brown eyes. Your whole body went rigid, fear coursing through your veins. His grin, wide and toothy, caused a shiver to run down your spine. “Why, I doubt they may even be human at all.”

Your mind screamed danger. Oh God, he knew who you were. He had to know who you were. You needed to leave, to run home as fast as you could. You'd call the hotel. You’d tell them you couldn't work for them. That- that Roger was right: you just weren't cut out to be cleaning help. You’d find another job, somewhere far away from Le Debut. Far away from Alistair.

But then, your heart sank as you remembered the long months it had taken you just to find this job. Finding a new one was probably a near impossibility. You and Harry were so close to homelessness. If you quit now, with no other job to replace it, there was no doubt in your mind you’d wind up out on the streets by the end of the month, and the streets were far less safe than your current situation you gathered.

“Oh dear!” Alistair’s attention shifted to Avis, as did yours, and you saw her looking down at her small wristwatch, the band made of black silk. “I failed to realize how late it had gotten. We must be heading back now, love.” Her eyes shifted to you, and you were all to happy to oblige. The sooner you got as far away from Alistair as you could, the better. 

“My, has it been that long already?” Alistair asked, digging a hand into his pockets and pulling out a golden pocket watch. He opened it, checking the time, but you were more worried about gathering your things as quickly as possible. “I have a bit more time before I'm needed again, so I will say goodbye to you here.” Then, his gaze shifted from his watch to you, and you stiffened instinctually. “It was a pleasure to meet you, my dear. I'm sure we'll be seeing more of each other.”

You hoped to God you wouldn't. 

Nodding your head, still afraid to speak, you stood up from your chair as Avis did the same. Alistair stepped out of the way, allowing the two of you to step away from the table. Avis waved goodbye, a pleasant “farewell” falling from her lips. You simply averted your gaze, walking swiftly to the door. 

You couldn't get outside soon enough. Once you stepped out the door, the chilly winter air on your skin, you breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Nearly forgetting about Avis, you started walking back quickly, only to hear her softly call out for you to wait. You slowed your steps, giving her time to catch up. 

She gave you a smile, and you returned it, falling into step with her as you two headed back to the hotel. As you did, you could feel Alistair watching you two from the bakery’s front window, but you tried not to focus on that. Instead, you focused on Avis, who had placed a hand on your arm. 

“I am terribly sorry for getting caught up in conversation. I hope you did not mind.” You shook your head, smiling at her reassuringly. In all honesty, you had been glad that she had been more focused on her conversation than on you. You didn't need her knowing that you had a problem with Alistair. “Was everything alright though? You were oftly quiet.”

You flinched. So much for her not noticing. You laughed nervously, eyes shifting to the side, searching for excuses. “Yeah, I'm fine, it's just--” You trailed off, grasping desperately at thoughts, trying to figure out what to tell her. 

Thankfully, Avis found one for you. “I apologize for what happened earlier. Roger, he--” She sighed, giving a small shake of her head. “He used to be such a kind person. One day, though, he just changed. I have not an idea in the slightest what could have happened, but I ask that you not take it to heart.” She gave your arm a gentle squeeze, and it honestly made you feel just a little bit better. 

Perhaps working at the hotel wouldn't be so bad. You'd have to avoid Alistair, sure, but Avis was kind and warm, and you didn't know if it was possible to have a better coworker. You'd stick it out, and if things got dicey you'd begin searching for another job. For now, though, you'd take comfort in knowing that Avis was there for you, and at the very least would protect you from Roger.


	3. Do You Like Venison?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my little deerlings! Here is chapter 3, I hope you enjoy! Once again, here is the link to the discord server: https://discord.gg/cxA4bEP  
> And, if playlists are your thing, I've made one for the fic! Here's the link to that: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6vJygvHSMQbqMeHFn7MYfu?si=6hHgAk_wTEGc91HHtHF3Kg

The evening progressed with relative ease as you worked. Avis, you discovered, was a wonderful storyteller. She told you many things, from anecdotes from her childhood to tales she had heard in passing from a variety of strangers. With her enthusiastic movements and energetic voice, Avis brought the stories to life and she never failed to leave you hanging on her every word. 

Thus, being in Avis’s company made time go by fast. Before you realized it, the day turned to night and soon enough it was time to head home. You stood in the hallway just outside the supply room as you'd come to know it, waiting patiently as Avis locked the door. She was humming a pleasant tune- you noticed she hummed a lot. Always gentle tunes that carried softly to your ears. When she finished, she turned to you with a smile, and you two began walking to the front lobby. 

The hotel was quiet, the lobby void of patrons. Only one person sat behind the front desk: a young man you didn't recognize. It looked as though Roger had gone home. Thank goodness, you didn't want another run-in with him after all. Even if Avis was there to protect you, you had had enough negative feelings starting to bubble back up- you didn’t need any of his too.

Stepping outside, the cool night air began nipping at your skin. Rubbing your arms, you regretted not having worn a jacket when you had known it’d be cold once the sun had set. You tried your best not to shiver, clenching your jaw so your teeth wouldn't chatter. 

“Oh, love, are you cold?” You glanced over to Avis, who looked over you with concern. “Poor dear- here.” She stopped walking and set her bag on the ground. You watched in surprise as she lifted her heavy, blue-and-white patterned knit shawl up and over her head, and then carefully she began putting it over yours.

“Oh-!” You blinked, completely taken aback. Avis smiled at you, smoothing the fabric at your shoulders. “But what about you?” 

She shook her head, stepping back and grabbing her bag, “Please do not fret over me, I will be fine.” Your lips curled up, the gesture sending a flutter of warmth to your heart. You followed Avis down the short path from Le Debut to the street, the shawl helping to fend off the chill. You pulled it closer to your chin, getting a faint whiff of something nice- something floral, perhaps? 

As you walked, you noticed Avis seemed tense, nervous. Her shoulders were taught, her eyes glancing at the shadows surrounding the two of you. It was as if she were looking for something there-- or perhaps someone. You had half a mind to ask if everything was all right, but you figured maybe she was only worried about the serial killer running rampant throughout the city. You knew you were.

When the two of you made it to the main street, Avis turned to you. “It has been an absolute pleasure working with you today,” she said, taking ahold of your hands then giving them a gentle squeeze. “I simply cannot wait until tomorrow- oh, you do work tomorrow, correct?” 

You nodded your head. “Yeah, same time.” Avis beamed, delight in her eyes. It was then that you noticed a looming figure approaching from behind Avis. You didn't pay it any mind at first as it wasn't terribly late. After all, this was a rather busy street. But then you noticed this figure was, seemingly, heading directly for Avis. Your gaze shifted from her delighted face to the approaching shadowy figure- the approaching man. 

“Oh wonderful, I shall see you tomorrow th--” You couldn’t even say anything. Avis couldn’t even finish her sentence really: the man rushed the two of you. Your lips opened to say something, to warn your friend- you even tried to reach out and grab Avis, but you were too late. The man wrapped his arms tightly around Avis’s waist, lifting her up into his chest. She screamed. Terrified and wide-eyed, your hands went to your mouth and you nearly tripped over your own feet as you stumbled back in fear: this man was big. There was no way you could defend yourself against such a brute, much less save Avis. 

But to your surprise, the man began to laugh- and it wasn't a malicious sound by any means. It was loud, boisterous, and laced with childish glee. Confusion washed over you in waves as he began to spin Avis around, watching as she squirmed in his grasp. You weren’t sure to smile or still remain horrified.

“Bryn _Wolfe_!” Her voice was an exasperated shout as she smacked one of his arms around her waist. “Put me down this instant you burlish fiend!” This only made the man chuckle more, and you watched as he spun her around one last time before gently setting her down. Avis huffed as she slapped her hands onto her skirt and aggressively smoothed it out. She turned to the man, one hand on her hip while the other went to point at his chest. But one of his hands captured hers, and he used it to pull her into his chest as he leaned down and captured her lips with his.

Quickly you put two and two together: this must be her husband. At least, you certainly hoped it was. When the man pulled away, a grin stretching over his face, Avis gave his arm another smack coupled with a soft ‘hmph’. She yanked her hand back from him, taking one step back as she turned on her heel. 

“(Y/N), this is my partner, Bryn.” You looked up at the man named Bryn. He stood pretty high above you, definitely over six feet, and was broad-shouldered. In the dim light, you saw how his lengthy auburn hair spilling out from beneath his cap framed his face. He was definitely older than both you and Avis, you noted, guessing him to at least be twenty years older, putting him at around his mid-forties. He was quite the rugged-looking man: with a thick scruffy beard and a faded scar running along his right cheek. So much different than Avis, you thought. 

“Pleasure to meet you, lass.” His voice was gruff and somewhat unique: he had an accent of sorts but you couldn’t place your finger on what described it best. It was an amalgamation of accents pieced into one and overall, you couldn’t help but think it suited him. You watched as his eyes shifted from your face to your shoulders, and he cocked a brow. “Isn't that your shawl, Avis?” He looked down at her, placing his hands on her uncovered arms. 

“It is,” she hummed, placing one of her hands atop his. “It is awfully chilly tonight and she had no coat: I could not let the poor dear freeze.” Bryn pursed his lips- nearly almost pouting- as he looked from Avis to you. With a sigh, he removed his hands from Avis to grab at the front of his coat to begin pulling it off. 

“Aye, but now you'll be the one without a coat.” He placed the heavy cloth over her shoulders, rubbing his hands up and down her arms. “Let's get you home now. I know how much you hate walking around late at night.” Avis nodded, slowly pulling her arms through the sleeves of the coat: her hands didn’t even reach the opening of the sleeves. It engulfed her, making her look all the smaller.

“I will see you tomorrow, love. Your husband shall not be too long, I hope?” You looked at her, confused, blinking at her expectant look- _Oh_. She thought, like Bryn, Harry was going to walk you home too.

“Oh, he- he isn't coming.” Avis gasped, even Bryn looked surprised, and you felt a nervous bubble of soft laughter fall from your lips as you rubbed the side of your neck. Avis stuttered, shaking her head in disbelief, and then looked up at Bryn, as if asking him to say what she couldn't. 

“You can't be walking home alone, lass. It isn't safe, not with that killer stalking the streets.” You knew he was right, but you also knew that with some luck you'd be gone before the killer even got to the streets tonight. “Why don't we walk you home?”

“I'll be okay, I only live about ten minutes away,” you lied, trying your best to reassure them. You didn't want to be a burden. “It's all busy streets too, so I've got nothing to worry about.” They still didn't look convinced, sharing an uneasy glance at one another, but Avis then sighed, giving you a weak smile. 

“If you are so certain, but, please, do take care. I would hate for something to happen to you.” You gave her a nod, lips curled reassuringly. With one final lingering glance, Avis gave you a wave, the coat sleeve flopping around in place of her hand, as she and Bryn both turned to walk in the direction Bryn had originally come from. 

As you watched them go you could hear Avis telling Bryn that he really didn't need to give her his coat. “Aye, but you would have been asking for it sooner or later.” You couldn't help a soft laugh as you heard Avis give an offended huff, telling him he had no faith in her. You stood there a moment longer before you began walking in the opposite direction, arms wrapped gently around yourself. 

You let your mind wander as you walked along the sidewalk, eyes absently focused on the concrete beneath your feet. Despite the relative ease of the tasks you had been given throughout the day, you were spent. Being constantly on edge from the knowledge of being so close to someone as dangerous as Alistair wore you down. You were ready to go home to sleep, safe in knowing he was far, far away from you. 

As you continued to walk, you began debating the likelihood of Harry actually having gotten the bottle of wine he mentioned when an older woman dressed in ragged clothes suddenly approached you, “Excuse me miss- excuse me.” _Oh no_. You tried to withhold a cringe as she walked towards you, knowing exactly where this was going. She was clearly homeless, or at the very least incredibly poor. She was going to ask you for money, money you didn't even have yourself.

“Sorry, I can't help you,” you whispered quickly, holding yourself a bit tighter as you tried walking around her, but she grabbed at you, her fingers curling into Avis’s shawl. You stiffened and tried to back away from her, but she just closely followed at your heels.

“Please miss, I just need some money, just a little bit.” 

“I-I don't have any,” you stuttered, grabbing at her hands to try and detach them from the shawl. But she wouldn't let go, shaking her head frantically as she continued begging.

“I don't need much, miss,” the homeless woman’s voice quivered as she spoke, “pocket change- just pocket change would do! Have a heart, miss. Please, I'm really not asking for so much.” You tried convincing her that you really didn't have money, that you needed to go, but she was desperate and refused to let you go. Panic was beginning to rise in your chest. You really couldn't afford to give this woman any money, but what else could you do?

“Well, my dear, it seems you’ve found yourself in quite the predicament!” _Oh no_. You winced, drawing your bottom lip between your teeth. _Not again_. You let out a shutter of a breath, looking over your shoulder to confirm what you already knew. To your surprise though, it wasn't just Alistair standing directly behind you, but Roger as well; but then, you grimaced because _of course_ they were friends. 

The older woman at your arm shrunk back, her persistent attitude deflating completely at the sudden appearance of the two men. Her panic gaze flickered between the two of them, her voice now a frightened waver as she spoke, “I- I don't want any trouble now, sirs.”

At this, Alistair laughed, his hand waving dismissively as he shook his head. “Trouble? Dear, of course not! Wherever would you get such a wacky idea?” His half-lidded gaze shifted over to you, and for the briefest expanse of time, you saw his eyes shine with something darker behind his thin glasses, something dangerous. Your entire body went rigid. 

But then his eyelids shot up, his grin widening as his gaze fell back to the woman. “But my, you are quite desperate aren’t you? I’m sorry but it simply won’t do to have you hassling my friend here.” You fought the urge to crinkle the bridge of your nose, hating the way he referred to you as friend. You wondered if he attacked his other friends too- if his other friends hadn’t been as lucky as you. 

Alistair then reached into his back pocket, and a moment of dread was quickly washed away as you watched him pull out his wallet. You heard the woman at your side gasp. You could only crinkle your brow in confusion as he opened up his wallet and began looking through the money he had. Was he actually giving money to this woman?

 _But of course, no one would ever suspect him_. You felt a fit of steady anger begin working its way into your thoughts as he took out a few bills and held them out for the woman to take. “I hope this will suffice, darling.” A stream of abundant thanks fell from the woman’s lips as she shakily took the money from him.

She continued uttering words of gratitude as she quickly walked off, leaving you alone with the two very people you had wanted to avoid at all costs. Alistair was watching the woman scurry her way down the street, lips curled in that ever-present smile, his hands clasped behind his back. Roger, on the other hand, was scowling at the moon with his hands buried stiff in his coat pockets. They were so different from one another, you wondered briefly how they could possibly get along. 

Then, Alistair’s eyes snapped to you. You couldn’t help but flinch. “This just doesn’t seem to be your day, my dear!” Oh, he had no idea. Or, you thought spitefully, he had exactly the right idea, seeing as how he knew full well who you were. “I hope you didn’t mind my intrusion, it just seemed like you were in need of a bit of rescuing.” As he looked at you expectantly, you realized with sickening dread that you now had no choice but to speak up and talk to him. 

“No, it’s fine,” you murmured, gazing off to the side, hands running idly up and down your arms. You froze when a finger suddenly tucked underneath your chin, pulling your gaze back to Alistair’s sharp grin. He was so close, _so close_.

“Then smile, my dear!” His lids lowered, the dark depths of his deep brown eyes regarding you with suffocating intensity. You couldn't breathe. “You know you're never fully dressed without one!” The corner of his lips peaked even higher, stretching to impossible lengths. When you swallowed hard, Alistair laughed delightedly before removing his finger from your chin and standing back up to his full height. Why was he so damn _tall_?

Rigidly, you rubbed at your chin, shoulders pulled tight to your body. “What a coincidence! It seems like we are all going in the same direction, so let us walk together.” Your stomach dropped, his words ringing in your ears. The very suggestion ran terror through your veins. You wanted to reject the offer, to refuse to spend another minute in his presence, but he placed his finger atop your lips, invading your personal space _again_. “Now, now, I won’t listen to a word of protest, either. There’s a killer on the loose, you know; it’s dangerous to be out walking around alone at night.” You pulled the inside of your cheek between your teeth, biting down slightly; you briefly wondered just how likely your chances of survival were tonight as you breathed out a soft “okay”. 

“Wonderful,” he hummed, pulling away from you and turning on his heel, hands talking along with him as he spoke, “Now, I'm sure you've met my good friend here.” You watched Alistair walk up behind the blonde man still angrily staring at the sky, before he then placed his hands on Roger’s shoulder. When he did, you noticed the shorter man visibly stiffen. “We’ve known each other for quite some time, haven’t we, Roger?” 

Roger was clearly uncomfortable as he grumbled out a quick “yeah, sure, whatever”. Alistair, amused at his response, chuckled heartily as he gave Roger a small squeeze around the shoulders. “Oh, Roger! You must forgive him, dear, he tends to be a bit shy around new people.” You knew better than to believe that, remembering vividly the way Roger had treated you earlier. It made you wonder what was making Roger so uncomfortable now. These two couldn’t possibly be friends- no, Roger was far too on edge in Alistair’s presence for them to be anything of the sort. Perhaps-- perhaps Roger knew something about Alistair. Perhaps he’d be willing to tell you what it was.

Perhaps Roger was the key to bringing Alistair down.

Alistair removed his hands from Roger’s shoulders, giving the angry man a lingering glance before his gaze shifted to you. “It's come to my attention, however, that I never properly introduced myself. The names Alistair, and who might you be?” He held out his hand, expecting you to take it. He looked at you like you had no other choice but to do so, and to also give him your name. You wanted nothing more than to wipe that smug grin off his face-

-but, instead, you slowly took his hand, fingers curling along the back of his palm. “(Y/N),” you murmured. Going to give his hand a shake, your eyes widened as Alistair instead brought your hand up to his lips and placed a kiss atop your knuckles. Your cheeks burned scarlet, a mixture of fear and embarrassment flooding your senses as he grinned up at you.

“As I said before, it's a pleasure to meet you, darling.” His gaze held fast to yours, his fingers tightening slightly around your hand. Your pulse was beating in your ears, echoing wildly in your skull. 

“Are you done, Alistair? I don’t have all night.” Roger’s voice cut through the tension in the air. You never thought you’d be grateful to hear it, but you were. You saw the faintest twitch on Alaistar’s lips, his gaze darkening for the briefest of moments before he began laughing softly. Letting go of your hand, he stepped back from you. Quietly, you released a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. 

“Impatient as always, my friend.” There was the slightest hint of danger in his voice, and you could have sworn Roger stopped breathing for a moment. “But I suppose it wouldn't do to waste any more time. We wouldn't want to find ourselves in the presence of that dreadful killer, now would we?” Alistair glanced at you for the briefest of seconds, amusement coloring his eyes. It made that lingering anger spike: you _hated_ him.

Alistair and Roger started walking down the street. After a moment's hesitation, you followed after them, praying to God that somehow, someway, you'd make it home alive tonight. 

“So tell me darling-” Alistair didn't hesitate to turn his attention to you, slowing his long strides so he could walk in time next to you. “How are you enjoying working at the hotel so far?” You didn't want to answer him. You wanted to walk in an awkward silence while the tension slowly suffocated you so you could get away from him that much sooner. But he was waiting, eyes on you, his smile curled so expectantly- like he knew you had no choice but to play nice and answer his questions. 

“It's okay.” _It's terrible_. “I don't have any complaints.” _Except for the fact that I'm working in the same building as a serial killer_. You intended for that to be it, but he just kept looking at you, waiting for something more. What else could you say? “I, uh, really like working with Avis.”

At this, he beamed. “Oh, Avis is just delightful, isn't she? The hotel just wouldn't be the same without her.” You could've sworn you heard Roger scoff, but when you looked at him he was staring stiffly in front of him, giving nothing away. “It's good to know she has help now. The last maid left in such an awful way, the hotel had no time to replace her.” 

Your mind went to suspecting the worse. “What-- what happened to her?” Your curiosity got the better of you, you couldn't help but ask. There was a glint in Alistair’s eye, and you could tell he was absolutely delighted that you had asked.

“Oh, I really can't bring myself to say, it was just so awful.” He placed a hand to his chest, giving a shake of his head. Dread surfaced swiftly in the form of a cold sweat that glistened on your brow. Oh God, he had killed her. “We were truly sorry to see her go, weren't we Roger?” Alistair’s gaze shifted to the blonde man, his eyes narrowing and his grin growing wider. Roger stiffened, his shoulders scrunching up. Wait. Was Alistair implying what you thought he was implying?

Gulping, you looked at Roger. “Yeah, real sorry all right.” You felt your mouth going dry, thoughts racing through your mind. Roger did he- did he _help_ Alistair? Or did Roger simply know that Alistair had murdered the previous maid? Surely Roger wasn't also a killer.

“Do you happen to like venison, my dear?” The question caught you off guard, and you blinked in stunned silence up at Alistair. The sudden change in topic jarred with your current line of thought, so you stuttered awkwardly around words until you finally just gave a nod. “Delightful! Roger and I are avid hunters, you know.” Roger didn't really strike you as the hunting type, he seemed too-- impatient and angry all the time to be able to sit for hours on end in silence, but then again when you first met him he was seemingly doing nothing before Charles pulled him out to man the front desk, so maybe he could just sit around after all. 

Alistair continued, his hands waving in the air around him, “Ah, the thrill of the hunt as you sit in silence, the solitude of nature all around you, waiting patiently until you hear it- the sound of a deer wandering alone. The adrenaline begins to course through your veins as you raise your gun, lining up the perfect shot, the perfect moment, holding your breath until finally- _finally_ \- you take the shot, ending a life in an echo of gunfire.” He was _way_ too passionate about this. There was a glimmer in his eyes, a fire in his words. It made your blood run cold, imagining the hidden meaning behind what he was saying. 

Whether Alistair noticed your fear, you couldn't tell, he just _kept talking_. “Roger and I recently got back from a hunting trip ourselves! Isn't that right, Roger?” Roger only nodded his head, still refusing to look at Alistair. “Roger and I have been hunting together for quite some time, you see. He usually spots them first, but I always get the winning shot.” His grin grew wider, his eyes hinting at some hidden knowledge you couldn't quite grasp. It made your heart beat faster, your fingers curling weakly into the fabric of Avis’s shawl. “Roger is always someone I can rely on when I need a bit of,” he paused, before flourishing his fingers outward, “assistance.”

Murderers. You were in the company of murderers. There was no escape. God, if only you had let Bryn and Avis walk you home. Why did you have to be so stupidly stubborn?

As Alistair continued raving about hunting, your mind wandered, conjuring up images of him and Roger hunting the innocent. They’d pick their victims from the dark streets at night, taking them out to the surrounding swamps and letting them loose. The victims would spend hours trying to escape, all the while Roger and Alistair would be at their heels, hunting them down. You couldn't even imagine the fear, the _terror_ , of wandering helplessly through the muck, all the while knowing you were running for your life, being hunted like an animal. 

You were halfway home when suddenly, to your great relief and surprise, Alistair announced he'd be walking down a different street than you. He bid you two a cheerful goodbye, wishing both of you a wonderful night before he turned down a street, his distant humming echoing through your ears. Now, you and Roger stood alone, the silence easily as suffocating as Alistair’s presence had been.

You dared a glance at Roger; he was staring after Alistair, something indiscernible in his blue eyes. Then, his gaze shifted to you and you immediately looked away. You heard him scoff, and out of your peripheral, you saw him begin walking away- in the exact direction you needed to go.

A soft noise of distress vibrated in your throat, but begrudgingly you followed after Roger. He didn't say a word to you, and you didn't say a word to him. Silence lingered between you two, the only sound being your footsteps against the concrete. It was agonizing, the tense atmosphere constricting around you until you felt you'd surely snap. Maybe walking home alone in awkward silence _wasn’t_ better.

You were five minutes away from home when Roger suddenly took a sharp turn down a side street. It caught you by surprise, but as you watched him walk away, you slowly allowed your body to relax. You... you survived. Somehow you had actually managed to live through the walk home, despite having been in the hands of those murderers. 

You ran the rest of the way home, not once looking back. Your chest was heaving by the time you made it to your street, and you finally allowed your steps to slow as you neared your door. The first thing you noticed was the lack of light in the windows; where was Harry? You fumbled with your keys at the front door, the faint tremble in your hands making it difficult to find the keyhole.

“Harry?” Your voice echoed through your empty home as you opened the door. Placing your bag down on the table in the front hallway, you walked over to a lightswitch, hand fumbling blindly before finally finding it. Silence lingered around you- where in the world was Harry?

You made your way through the hall of your home, continuing to call out softly for your husband. It wasn't until you made it to your bedroom did your quickly beating heart begin to steady. From behind the door, you could hear the sounds of light snoring. Opening it, you found a figure in your bed, the blankets rising and falling with each snore.

A pang of hurt hit you in the heart; he hadn't even waited until you got home to see if you were safe. Staring at him for a moment longer, you sighed, closing your bedroom door as you stepped back into the hall. You kept your hand on the doorknob, staring blankly at it before shaking your head. You made your way to the kitchen. 

Perhaps, you thought, turning on the kitchen light, Harry had actually bought that wine he had mentioned. But a quick glance around the room confirmed what you had expected: there wasn't a bottle in sight, and when you opened the fridge only the scarce amount of groceries you had greeted you. Urged to sigh again, you closed the refrigerator door and walked over to your kitchen table. You removed Avis’s shawl, folding it neatly on the tabletop as a reminder to bring it to work tomorrow. After that, you sat down.

There, you sat in silence, head in your hands as you blinked at the wooden table. You were so tired, so exhausted, but you knew if you laid down in bed now you wouldn’t be able to sleep even if you tried. You simply had too much on your mind, your thoughts ravenous in their onslaught. Today had just been-- a lot. Too much, in fact. From Alistair to Roger to everything in between, you didn't even know how to begin processing it all.

You raised your head as the sound of footsteps reached your ears, watching as Harry appeared in the doorway, one hand over his mouth as he yawned. “(Y/N)? When did you get home?” His voice was gruff and sleepy, his words carrying the smallest of slurs. It made you smile.

“Only a few minutes ago.” He nodded, rubbing his eyes before giving you a tired smile. He hobbled over to you, standing behind you and wrapping his arms around your shoulders. He pulled you back into his chest. Leaning down, he lovingly nuzzled his cheek against yours. 

“Let's get you in bed; you can tell me all about your first day tomorrow.” You hesitated, but then, you obliged with a small nod. You didn’t have the energy to object. Plus, you knew if you did Harry would ask what was wrong, and you really didn't want to explain what was on your mind. 

You let him help you to your feet, following him through the halls while his hand slowly stroked your back. Upon entering your bedroom you shuffled over to your closet, gathering your night clothes as Harry situated himself back in bed. He gave you a small smile as you made your way into the bathroom.

You undressed, taking your time to remove your clothes. You knew the longer you took the more likely it’d be for Harry to have fallen back to sleep when you finished. You didn't want to risk a conversation with him. All you wanted was to be alone with your thoughts right now. Plus, you were still a little hurt that he hadn't waited up for you.

When you finished changing, you slightly opened the bathroom door, waiting in the darkness as you listened to the momentary silence. Hearing Harry’s soft snores, you sighed softly before opening the door all the way and walking into the bedroom. You made your way to your bed, careful not to wake Harry up as you did so. As smoothly as you could, you lifted the covers and climbed in. 

With your face against the pillow, you stared blankly at the corner of your room, thoughts beginning to overcome you. What were you going to do? You were working with criminals- murderers. You couldn't just let them continue their killing spree. But what could you, of all people, do? Ask them politely to stop?

You had to find a way to bring them down. Maybe Roger could still be of help. You thought about how he had acted during the walk: clearly put off and uncomfortable by Alistair’s presence. Maybe he wasn’t too keen on what they did. Maybe he didn’t actually want anything to do with it and Alistair was just forcing him to help. 

You’d have to get more information on him. 

As you slowly began to drift off, your mind consumed with thoughts of Alistair and Roger, Harry wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you back into his chest. You felt his lips on your neck, his scruff pricking at your skin as he placed a soft kiss beneath your ear. You heard him murmur a quiet “love you”, and not a moment later you were once again met with his quiet snores.

Sighing softly, you placed a hand atop his, thumb dusting against his knuckles: you'd figure it out in the morning. Snuggling back into Harry’s embrace, you eased your eyes closed, drifting off to the sound of Harry’s snoring, and the knowledge that, at the very least, you were safe at home.


	4. The Keys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this chapter has taken so long! I had a difficult writing week and finishing this was just incredibly challenging. But! It's done, and I hope you all enjoy! I'll try my best to get chapter 5 out on Friday still, but it's Christmas so I don't wanna promise you guys anything. As always, here's the link to the discord: https://discord.gg/cxA4bEP

Nearly a week had passed since you had started working at the hotel, and despite certain circumstances, it was actually going quite well. You managed to keep your distance from Alistair; it was relatively easy considering he spent most of his time in the radio station. At night, you'd leave as quickly as you possibly could, practically sprinting out the front door as you waved Avis goodbye.

Roger, too, was easily avoidable. It became clear he wanted as little to do with you as you did with him. Sometimes you'd catch his eye whenever you found yourself in the lobby, but he’d only throw a scowl at you before going back to what he was doing: nothing. Not once did he approach you again, and for this you were glad; his poignant glares were enough interaction for you. 

However, while you were lucky in this regard, your luck ran dry when it came to getting any information about Roger. So far, he was a complete enigma. Avis knew very little. She had only just started working shortly before Roger had changed, and even before then she hadn’t really talked to him. She figured he was married because he wore a ring, but not once did she see his wife so she was never certain. 

Only one thing she said had caught your attention: at one point, he and Charles seemed to be close friends. You weren't sure of the validity of this; from your own experiences, Charles acted very kind, similar to Avis. Why he would be friends with someone like Roger was beyond you, but you supposed if Roger had truly once been a good person, then perhaps they could have been friends at one point. 

All you needed was to find an opportunity to talk with Charles, but it was difficult because Charles not only often left before for you, but whenever he worked he was usually working at the front desk _with_ Roger. You hadn't gotten the chance to approach him since you first started working, and it was honestly starting to discourage you.

Today you were working in silence alongside a woman you hadn't worked with before. She was an older woman whose name was Dorothea- or, at least you thought it was. She spoke only once, her introduction more of a passing thought as she folded towels in a simple-minded manner. She had not spoken another word to you since. There was nothing malicious or rude about her silence: she probably figured you would be fine on your own, which you were. It wasn't like cleaning was all that difficult. But the silence made time drudge by, and you found yourself sorely missing Avis’s company.

Nearly halfway through your shift, your stomach began growling. You’d grown so used to Avis being the one initiating breaks so you hadn't dared to ask for one yet, but you knew you'd eventually need to stop for one. You were just hoping Dorothea would be the one to bring it up.

But she didn’t. You kept waiting, and waiting, and waiting- until finally your stomach, angry that you had yet to feed it, growled particularly loud. Embarrassment heated your cheeks as Dorothea gave you a look, one eyebrow raised, before she laughed. 

“If you’re hungry, you can go ahead and take a break. I like to take mine towards the end of my shift.” Grateful, you nodded, finishing up the task you had been doing before making your way to the door. As you grabbed the knob, she spoke up once more: “Oh, could you just switch over the laundry before you go? It should be done washing by now.” 

“Will do.” You smiled at her then walked out of the room and into the hallway. The walk to the laundry room was uneventful, silent- your footsteps muffled by the carpet beneath your feet. You passed the occasional patron, but there weren’t too many people staying at the hotel at this time of year so you didn’t see many. It made the job easier, allowing you to work at a lackadaisical pace, as there was no need to rush when you barely had any rooms to clean. 

Once you made it to the laundry room, you quickly switched over all the laundry into the dryer. After doing a quick once-over of the machines, you then made your way to the storage room to grab your lunch. While you walked, you debated whether or not to eat at the hotel. You really didn't want to be anywhere near Alistair, especially when Avis wasn't around to garner most of his attention. While the two of you often ate in the storeroom together, you decided it best to eat somewhere else. Perhaps the little bakery Avis had brought you to before would do.

After grabbing your lunch, you made your way to the lobby. The second you stepped into the large room, your attention was immediately pulled to the front desk; there Roger stood, glowering down at a young man you didn't recognize. As you hid behind the wall and peeked over the corner, you thought about how he must be new, but those thoughts got pushed aside as Roger’s scowl turned into a sneer.

“Can you do _anything_ right?” He hissed, snatching a pen from the young man's trembling hand. The poor guy looked as frightened and stunned as you had been when you had first encountered Roger; you certainly didn't envy the guy. “Are you capable of paying attention, of listening? Or are you really just that stupid?”

You winced. Sympathy panged at your heart for the new employee. Unfortunately, you didn't exactly have the ability to help him; Roger scared you, and you weren't about to put your neck on the line for someone you hadn't even met yet. It wasn't worth it- but you still felt bad, terrible even. No one deserved to be on the receiving end of Roger’s ire, especially not someone who just started working at the hotel. 

Thankfully, you saw Charles peak his head out from the backroom. When he realized what was going on, he pursed his lips, stepping fully out of the backroom and walking over to the two men. “Roger.” At the sound of his name, the blond man looked over his shoulder. “What's going on?”

“I'll tell you what's going on,” he spat, exasperation tainting his words. “This idiot can't get the ledger right to save his life. I've explained it three times and he still gets it wrong!” His hands motioned to the area in front of him. You assumed he was gesturing at the aforementioned ledger, though you couldn't know for sure as it was behind the desk. The new employee lowered his head in shame, mumbling something that you could only think to be an apology. He looked about ready to cry.

Charles, now standing directly behind Roger and the new employee, looked down at the ledger. His brows furrowed, his hands going to his hips, and for a moment he was quiet as he looked it over. Then, a gentle smile laced his lips, and he raised a hand to place on Roger’s shoulder.

Flinching when Charles’ hand touched Roger, you surely thought you’d witness Roger snap at him. After all, you witnessed someone touching him before. It was an accident, yet the man nearly flew into a blind rage, his reaction so volatile and concerning it sent you running before he had even finished. But, instead, to your immense surprise, Roger’s form visibly softened; his taut shoulders relaxed and his scowl lessened to something you could actually consider to be lax neutrality- which was saying a lot for someone like Roger. 

“Come on Roger, it's his first day. I'm sure he'll get it soon enough.” Roger huffed, and you could see him roll his eyes, but instead of attacking Charles for defending the new employee, he just gave a shake of his head.

“Maybe. But I refuse to keep training him. You do it.” Then, Roger shrugged off Charles’ hand and stepped around him, making his way to the backroom. Before he stepped through the doorway, his gaze caught yours, and his lip curled up in disdain. Quickly you averted your gaze, terrified that Roger had caught you snooping, and darted your way through the lobby and out the front doors, muttering a word of thanks to the man who opened the door for you. 

Now you had to talk to Charles. Never had you seen Roger actually calm down like that before, least of all because someone tried to reason with him. You thought it was impossible for a man so bitter and full of spiteful rage to even reach a minimal state of calm. If Charles could have such an effect on him, then he had to know something about Roger.

You basically inhaled your food once you got to the bakery. You hardly even tasted any of it but that didn’t matter; if Charles could give you the information on Roger you needed, then you were one step closer to Alistair. You just needed to figure out how you could get Charles away from Roger, because clearly waiting for an opportunity wasn't working. Besides, the longer you waited the more people were likely to die.

Thanking the person behind the bakery counter as you left- because you felt bad coming in and not ordering anything- you made your way back to the hotel, your gate a near jog. Upon entering the hotel, your gaze fell to the front desk, where your heart immediately sank as you noticed a lack of the curly-haired man you so desperately needed to talk to. 

But there wasn't any sign of Roger either. The only person at the desk was the new employee, who looked just as nervous and on edge as he had before you left. You bit your lip, debating whether or not to walk up to ask where Charles was; if you were lucky, he and Roger weren't both in the back room. Charles was somewhere else, and you could easily go to wherever that was to talk to him there. 

Stealing your resolve, you walked up to the counter. The new employee didn't notice you at first. He was too busy worrying away at his lip with his teeth, eyes focused on something behind the desk. Once you made it to the counter, you could see he was focused on a book. You assumed it must have been the ledger Roger was getting on his case for. 

“Excuse me?” The poor guy nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of your hushed voice, his eyes going wide and staring at you in panicked horror. He quickly turned and looked around him, a bit of relief washing over him when he realized he was alone behind the counter. You imagined the thought of Roger seeing him unaware of his surroundings frightened him. You knew it would frighten you too.

“S-sorry,” he stuttered, placing the pen that he was holding down onto the book. “Welcome to Le Debut. What can I, uh, help you with today?” His smile was weak and shy, and you felt a tinge of sadness for him; Roger was going to eat him alive. 

Keeping your voice low, you leaned in, “Do you know where Charles is?” The young man blinked, and then a string of nervous laughter fell from his lips as he awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck. 

“He's in the laundry room.” Confused as to why Charles, someone who manned the front desk, would be there of all places, you simply nodded your head and thanked him. You didn't have time to ask questions; this was the perfect opportunity. You weren't going to let it slip through your fingers. 

You beelined your way to the laundry room. You thought you saw Roger beginning to exit the backroom, which only made your steps quicken. Hopefully, he hadn't heard you ask about Charles, you didn't need him suspecting you of anything. 

Your eyes darted around the laundry room the second you entered, and to your immense relief, they landed on Charles who was standing in front of a dryer, one hand resting atop it as he leaned against the machine. You were surprised to find him in only his uniform pants and a form-fitting tank top; you wondered briefly where his shirt went, but you shoved those curiosities to the side. That wasn't what mattered.

You called out to him, making your way over to where he stood as he lifted his head to look over at you. You saw his cheeks warm, a soft tint of red dusting across his skin as he stuttered on your name. You tilted your head curiously, watching as he awkwardly scratched the back of his neck. You now stood in front of him. 

A nervous laugh fell from his lips. “I didn't expect anyone to come into the laundry room.” He seemed to be having a hard time looking at you, his eyes glancing at different corners of the room. You wondered what could have made him so bashful. “Do you need something?”

It then dawned on you: you couldn't just come out and say that you wanted to talk to him about Roger. That’d sound alarmingly suspicious. You too began glancing around. “Uh.” Your eyes settled on the dryers you had filled before you left. _Thank you, Dorothea._ “I came to check on the load of wash I started.”

Charles followed your gaze, nodding his head as he played with one of his curls. “I see.” Then he looked back at you, his smile warm but you could see the tethers of embarrassment still lingering. “I was wondering why so many machines were full. But I guess it makes sense, what with all those bed sheets and towels we go through.” Oh, he had no idea. The laundry was your least favorite task; you hated it, it was so tedious, the only good thing about it was that you could leave it for a while and do other things.

At your grimace, Charles laughed. “Yeah I've never liked doing laundry either,” he said, now brushing a stray curl from his forehead. “With the twins reeking as much havoc as they do, my wife needs all the extra help she can get- and I'm always on laundry duty.” He sighed, shaking his head, his fingers now tapping against one of the machines “It is what it is, I suppose.”

“I'm surprised to find you here,” you said, trying to figure out how best to bring up Roger. “And, where's your shirt?” The bashful expression resurfaced on Charles’ face. Was that why he was so embarrassed? 

“Ah, well, Clarence- the new employee, that is- spilled some water on me by accident.” Now it all made sense as to why Clarence had been so awkward when you had asked about Charles. “Poor guy nearly cried when it happened.”

“He does seem like a nervous sort,” you murmured. You needed to ask about Roger, not wasting this opportunity talking about Clarence. Grasping at straws of thoughts, your hands worrying away at the fabric of your skirt, you continued, “I saw Roger hassling him before I went on my lunch break. He looked ready to cry then, too.” A strained smile curled Charles’ lips, his eyebrows furrowing slightly. 

“Yeah, Roger can be a bit critical.” A bit? You had to fight back the urge to raise a brow at the comment. “He means well.” You doubted it, but you didn't want to say it. “He just has a small temper.” You nearly choked on a laugh, but you managed to keep it at bay.

“He seems to calm down around you, though.” Charles nodded, leaning back against the dryer and crossing his arms in front of his chest. 

“Yeah, we've been friends for a long time,” he explained, and this caught your interest. Now you were getting somewhere. “He’s always had a temper, ever since highschool, but when we were younger he kept it in check better.” He sighed, looking up at the ceiling, “A lot better.” 

“What happened?” Charles pursed his lips, his gaze now glancing off to the side for a minute. His brown eyes narrowed in contemplation, and you tightened the grip on your skirt. This was it, you were going to finally figure out something about Roger- you only hoped it would lead to figuring out more about Alistair.

“Well-”

“Ah, (Y/N)! I've been looking for you, my dear.” The string of curses passing through your mind at that moment put a sailor to shame. You didn't even want to turn around to look at him; why did he always have to find his way to you at the worst of times? Actually, why did he have to find his way to you _at all_? You felt a hand on either of your shoulders, a presence at your back; you stiffened. “And hello to you, Charles. Your family is doing well, I hope?”

Charles smiled over your shoulder at Alistair, but something about it seemed… Strained? Fake, even. “Hello, Alistair. They're doing fine, thanks for asking.” Completely different than his response when Avis had asked about his family, you couldn't help the furrow of your brows as you watched him- looking for more clues. 

“Wonderful! Now, I hate to intrude but I am in need of some assistance from our darling little maid here.” Of course he did, why wouldn't he? Right when you were about to find out crucial information about Roger, he just _had_ to interrupt because he needed something.

But _you_ needed to talk to Charles, you couldn't waste this opportunity. “What about Dorothea?” You finally looked up at Alistair, turning your head and raising your chin so that you could see him. His eyes narrowed slightly, but his grin stayed toothy. 

“Why, I couldn't find her! And I simply can't waste any more time looking, you see. We've had a little accident in the station that needs to be taken care of as soon as possible.” _And you couldn't handle it yourself?_ Your bitter thoughts must have darkened your gaze, for Alistair's grin widened and he gave your shoulders a small squeeze. “Ah, I'm sure you'll be able to handle it, my dear. Avis speaks quite fondly of you, after all.”

You looked over to Charles, hoping, _praying_ that he would say something to get you out of this- but instead he just smiled at you. “Well I'll let you go then. I still need to wait for my shirt to dry.” You barely stopped a sigh from escaping your lips, your shoulders lowering in defeat. 

“Follow me, darling.” Alistair's voice was a near sing-song, and begrudgingly you followed after him, giving Charles a pitiful wave goodbye as he gave you one. Somehow you’d have to get him alone again and figure out what he was going to tell you, but for now, you would go to help Alistair with whatever ‘accident’ had happened in the station. 

He had you stop by the storage room first, claiming that you would need some supplies. “We have a band performing, you see, and one of the members accidentally knocked over a plant,” he explained as he walked closely at your side, his hands clasped behind his back. “Unfortunately the pot broke and there's dirt all over the floor now.” 

So, you grabbed a trash bag as well as a vacuum cleaner. It rolled behind you as you and Alistair walked through the hall. He was talking about… Something, you didn't really care about what. You hardly listened to him as you made your way to the station. Instead, you focused on the carpeted floor beneath your feet while praying to get all of this done soon. Maybe if you hurried, Charles would still be there- no, that was only wishful thinking.

Alistair held the door to the studio opened for you, making an almost grand gesture of it. You murmured a word of thanks, head hung slightly as you stepped into the room. It had been shifted around a bit since you had last seen it; the table where Alistair sat was now pushed off into a corner, and a large standing mic was set up near the center. The band was still there; there were five of them, all men and all standing around the mic. All but one held instruments, and they all looked at you as you entered. 

The sudden attention made you stiffen, your hand squeezing the trash bag. Alistair placed his hands on your shoulders again, his voice as cheerful as ever as he spoke, “Gentlemen! This little darling is (Y/N), she will be cleaning up the unfortunate mess we’ve made.” One of the band members laughed awkwardly, muttering an apology under his breath. “Right this way, my dear.” 

Alistair led you to a spot off the side of the room where the small potted plant had met its demise. Pieces of pottery and dirt covered a fairly decent portion of the floor, but you were confused as to how it had happened. It wasn't like the plant was in the way after all, so you didn't understand how someone had managed to knock it over.

“The band has one more song to play, so I ask that you wait to vacuum up the dirt until they are done.” You looked up at him to find- at no surprise- a smile curled on his lips. You loathed the way he looked at you, his eyes brimming with ever-growing amusement at every stupid little thing you did. It was like you were there for nothing but to be entertainment for him. You couldn't stand it. Knowing Alistair, _he_ probably finagled a way for the pot to get knocked over just to drag you over here.

“All right.” You let go of the vacuum and opened up the garbage bag so that you could begin to work. Before you could bend down, however, you felt a sudden weight on the top of your head- not once, but twice, in quick succession. A desire to scream boiled up so fiercely in you, you thought you'd surely burst. He had actually patted your head like a child- how _dare_ he.

He didn't wait for you to respond, turning on his heel and walking over to the band. You glowered at his retreating form, mouth set in a flat line, before giving your head a shake and kneeling down onto the floor. You began carefully picking up the larger pieces of the pot as Alistair spoke, presumably into his mic, “And we’re back! Apologies for the interruption, dear listeners, but we've gotten the situation under control and are ready to continue.”

Music began playing shortly after that; a smooth jazz song reached your ears, catching your attention and demanding it hold fast to it. Your hand stilled. You didn't recognize the song, but you hadn't recognized the band either, so you weren't all that surprised. It was a catchy tune though, one that you immediately found yourself enjoying. 

So focused on the music entrancing you, you didn't hear the approaching footsteps, nor did you notice the looming figure above. It wasn't until a sudden voice- _his_ voice- broke through the music did you register the world around you. “Enjoying yourself, darling?”

“Wha-” the word froze in your throat as your gaze shifted from the floor to just above you, only to be met with Alistair’s face near inches from your own. Your heart crashed to a stop, your eyes as wide as saucers- his nose was so close to touching yours. So close, in fact, you could make out the slightest dusting of freckles across his tan skin; even more so, you swore that within the glittering amusement of his brown eyes were the smallest flecks of red. Words clambered up your throat, getting stuck in a lump halfway up making the noise that managed to actually escape sound strained and awkward. As the weird guttural sound escaped you, your cheeks flushed crimson. 

Alistair’s grin widened, and a humor filled hum in tune with the music fell from his lips. He cocked his head to the side, his eyelids lowered; his gaze never wavering from yours- and yours never wavered from his, too shocked to even consider looking anywhere else. Even though it felt like time stopped, the world freezing around you, the music continued playing, it’s smooth tunes immortalizing the moment of you getting lost in his presence.

But, no, this moment needed to end. Your tongue ran across your bottom lip as you finally began grasping that yes, time was still moving, and yes, Alistair was waiting for a reply. “Uh… Uhm-” First attempt? Failed- why did he have to be so close to you? Did he not know a thing about personal space? And, what had he even asked you anyway? “...yes?” Your answer must have amused him, for he gave a quiet chuckle. Satisfied, he pulled away from you, giving you room to breathe once again. 

“Are you a fan of music, then?” His voice was low but audible; you figured he didn't want it to be picked up by the microphone. Standing at his full height now, he was far more imposing with you still kneeling on the floor. How tall was he anyway? He had no business being that tall, and quite frankly you were offended by it. 

Your hands began moving again, your gaze falling back to the mess at your feet. You didn't want to look at him anymore. “Yeah, it's nice,” you murmured, carefully picking up a particularly large shard and tossing it into the garbage bag. Knowing he wouldn't be satisfied with just that- because he never was- you continued, “I don't get the chance to listen to it often, though, so it's nice when I do get to hear it.”

“Do you not own a radio?” You shook your head, picking up the last of the pieces that you could see before brushing through the dirt to find any you may have missed. “Well darling that just won't do! We need to get you one as soon as possible.”

Lips pursed, you dared a glance up at him. “I can't really afford it right now,” you explained, pushing back onto your heels and slowly standing up. Looking down at your skirt, you brushed off the dirt clinging to the fabric before you looked back up at Alistair. “Maybe one day I'll get one, but right now I just can't.”

Alistair tilted his head as he regarded you, eyes half-lidded and smile curled smaller than normal. It actually made him seem slightly less threatening and insufferable, but you knew better than to think he was anything but. Before he could answer you, the music began to end, and Alistair turned his head to look over at the band. 

“Pardon me, my dear.” You nodded, busying yourself with tying the trash bag up so nothing would fall out. From the corner of your eye you watched Alistair make his way back to the band, giving them a short round of applause as he walked. “Wonderful show, gentlemen! Truly a spectacular performance.”

As Alistair spoke into the mic to bid farewell to the band, you started unwrapping the vacuum’s cord. Your eyes glanced around for an outlet, finding one not too far out of the way. As you plugged the cord into the wall, you heard Alistair mention they would be going on a short break before they would continue the show for the evening. You glanced over your shoulder, watching as Alistair made a motion to one of the men at the machines off in the corner of the room. 

Then he looked over to you, “You can finish cleaning now, my dear.” Not wasting another second, you turned on the machine, wanting to finish up here so you could continue keeping as much distance between you and Alistair as possible. The running vacuum muffled the sounds of the band members packing up their instruments, but you could still hear them as they talked to Alistair.

“Thanks again for inviting us onto the show, this will really help us get our name out there.” 

“It was my pleasure, my fine fellow! Talent like yours deserves to be put under the spotlight, and I am more than happy to assist.” 

“I just can't believe we actually performed on the same show she'll be performing on. It feels so strange- when is she coming again?”

“We are expecting her at the beginning of next month! But she is quite the busy sort, and had warned us that her schedule is quite tight so she may have to reschedule.”

“I hope not, I'm really looking forward to listening in to the show. Isn't she performing at the hotel afterwards?”

“Yes indeedy! It'll be the first big event the hotel has thrown in quite some time.”

Curiosity burned at the back of your mind, desperately trying to figure out who they could be talking about; but you refused to ask, staying stubbornly silent as you finished vacuuming the floor. Once you were done, you unplugged the cord, wrapped it back around the machine, and grabbed the trash bag.

Alistair was still talking to the band members as you began walking towards the door, stopping only to throw him a glance over your shoulder. “I've finished, there's nothing else right?” His gaze shifted to you, and he gave a small wave of his hand. 

“That's everything, darling. Do try and have a good evening now.” His eyes flashed with amusement, something unbeknownst to you clearly tickling his fancy. You didn't care enough to find out. You opened the door to the station and walked into the hallway, heaving a heavy sigh once you clicked it shut behind you. Once again you somehow managed to survive another encounter with Alistair; you were starting to wonder just when your luck would run out. 

You dropped off the vacuum at the storage room, placing the trash bag onto a table. You’d take it out later with the rest of the trash you and Dorothea had collected throughout the day. You were sure you had taken longer than a normal break would allow by this point, but you only hoped Dorothea would understand that you hadn't wanted to be held up in the first place. 

You made your way to the floor you had last left her on, finding her after only a few minutes of looking. She was pushing the cart down the hall, and when you called out to her she turned to look at you. 

“Oh there you are,” she said when you got closer. You went to open your mouth to explain yourself but before you could she continued, “Did Alistair find you? He was looking for you.” Your thoughts stopped in their tracks, her words an echo in your mind, their implications clear. Alistair had been looking for you, and Dorothea knew this, which only meant one thing.

“ _Why, I couldn't find her!_ ” That bastard. Not only had he lied to you, but he had purposely sought you out. For what? To torment you more? Of course, why else would he do it? You were nothing more than a form of entertainment for him after all. Your mind thought to the moment when you left, the amusement that had been clearly present in his brown eyes. Your fingers twitched in agitation.

“Yeah,” you said, trying your best not to grit your teeth. “He found me.” _And ruined my chances of getting any information on Roger while he was at it_. Dorothea smiled, oblivious to the anger simmering in your core. 

“Oh good. He's such a dear, isn't he? A gentleman in every sense of the word.” You wanted to scream, but all could do was nod, giving her as much of a smile as you could muster. It wasn’t much; it faltered at the edges as she continued to talk about Alistair- but you didn’t listen, didn’t care. Anything she was going to say would just be misguided anyway. Just like Avis and the vast majority of New Orleans: all but two people outside of yourself seemed to know any better than to believe the lie that was Alistair McCarthy.

Your mind flashed back to Charles’ faltering smile when Alistair popped into the laundry room; to Roger’s stiff body and angry sneers. Those two were the key, you knew it now more than ever. You just had to discover which doors they unlocked, and where they led to.


	5. One Baseboard at a Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah I'm so sorry it's been so long everyone! In case you don't follow my blog or are in my server, I mentioned on both that I was unable to find the time to write during the holidays. Then, unfortunately, I had an incredibly bad time with my fibro and it was just the worst. But!! Here it is, chapter 5! I hope you enjoy.

You stood in your bathroom, gaze steady on your reflection as you ran a brush through your hair. Three days had passed since your last encounter with Alistair, and while you were thankful you hadn't run into him since, you were beyond frustrated you still hadn't been able to find another opportunity to speak with Charles alone.

Every time you tried, something would get in the way- and usually, that something was Roger. He always lurked around as if he knew what you wanted and was deliberating blocking your attempts. This only spurred you on more, however; if Roger was really trying to stop you from talking to Charles, then you knew you were on the right track.

Setting the brush down on a little dresser you had in your bathroom, you gave yourself one more look-over in the mirror before exiting. You made your way to the kitchen where Harry sat at your dining room table, leaning over a piece of paper. He had a pencil in his hand with the eraser pressed against his lips. He appeared to be deep in thought, but the sound of your footsteps made him lift his gaze to you: a smile immediately curled onto his lips.

“Ready for work?” He asked, straightening his posture slightly while setting the pencil down. You nodded, going into the fridge to collect your lunch for the day. “Hey, uh, would you mind looking over this real quick? I want your input.” Placing the food you had grabbed onto the counter, you closed the fridge door before walking over to Harry.

One of your hands cupped his shoulder and the other rested on the table as you looked over the paper. “What is this?” The small sheet seemed to be a bulleted list. Each bullet contained a short statement: _I’m an independent and strong worker_ , one bullet read. _I always arrive on time and immediately get to work_ , read another.

“Well… I'm gonna ask my boss for a raise,” he picked up the pencil again, nervously tapping the eraser against the table. He shot you a glance before looking back at the paper, “But y’know how I get. Whenever I start a serious conversation I can never remember what I want to say, but then,” He reached up to squeeze your hand resting on his shoulder, “I remembered once you suggested I make a list of things I want to bring up before I talk with someone, so…” His voice trailed off, letting go of your hand and motioning towards the paper in front of him. 

You knew well enough about Harry’s tendency to forget important things he wanted to mention. It had led to many complications when it came to communicating. Often the two of you would sit down to discuss things that were bothering you, and every time Harry would never seem to know what to say. He’d only sit there, gaping at the table with his jaw clenched. It led to things never being addressed, and as such, problems would continue festering until it was almost too much for Harry to handle. 

He'd never explode on you per se- he wasn’t the type to shout, but he would be incredibly upset at his inability to get his thoughts across. Seeing him take your advice and actually making a list of talking points made you happy, but even more so, you were relieved hearing he planned on asking for a raise. 

“That's great, Harry.” You leaned down to give him a kiss on his cheek, his scruff pricking against your lips. Pulling away, you gave the list on final look over, carefully reading what he had written down. You smiled, giving his shoulder a little shake “I think it looks good. Are you going to ask him tomorrow?” 

Harry nodded, idly scribbling circles along the paper’s margin. “Yeah, we’ll both be in early with no one else around so I figured it'd be the perfect time to talk to him.” He looked up at you, smiling softly. “And, I mean, since you're doing so much to help, I figured I should do something too.” You gave him a playful shove, rolling your eyes as you walked back over to the counter to start preparing a sandwich.

“You and I both know you help out more than enough.” Taking two slices of bread and some lunch meat you began assembling your lunch. You heard the chair grate against the floor as Harry stood. He walked over to you and wrapped his arms around your waist. He nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck and you heard a soft sigh escape his lips.

“Yeah, but I cause a lot of trouble too,” He murmured, chin resting on your shoulder. You looked at him the best you could, and you saw his eyes focused on the counter. Another second of silence passed before he glanced up to you, the smile returning to his lips. “So I'm going to make up for it.” You smiled back at him, wanting those words to mean something more than what they likely did, but you simply kissed his nose before returning to making your lunch. 

Harry held you for a few seconds more before he went back to the table, sitting down and reading over what he had written, presumably to see if he wanted to add anything more. It took you only a few more minutes before you finished preparing your lunch and placing everything into your bag. As you did, Harry spoke back up: 

“Oh, you have Tuesday off right?” You looked over at Harry and then glanced up in thought. 

“Yeah, I do actually. Why?” Harry grinned, leaning back in the chair and stretching his arms out in front of him. He hummed, his eyes closing as he bobbed his head a bit. Your lips curled and your eyes narrowed. “What? What are you thinking?” Harry gave a shrug of his shoulders, opening his eyes and watching as he rolled the pencil between his fingers. 

“Well, I was just _thinking_ ,” He drew out the last syllable until he stopped twirling the pencil and pointed it at you, “it has been quite some time since we went on a date.” You raised an eyebrow, placing your hands on your hips, waiting for him to continue. “And y’know... A new jazz club just opened up not too far from us.” 

“Are you suggesting we go?” He grinned over at you, giving a small nod of his head. 

“Yeah- would you want to?” You leaned back against the counter behind you, crossing your arms in front of your chest and pursing your lips in thought. Money was tight. You couldn’t really afford to go out- but then again, you didn’t necessarily have to spend money at this club. And Harry was right: it had been a long time since the two of you had gone out together. 

“Yeah, I would.” Harry’s green eyes lit up with excitement, his grin turning into one of childish delight. You giggled as you grabbed your bag and then walked over to Harry. You placed your lips atop his head as you mumbled, “I’ll see you when I get home tonight, all right?” Harry hummed, reaching up to lightly caress your cheek while your lips still lingered.

“I love you.” You smiled and murmured an ‘I love you’ back into the locks of his brown hair before pulling away. You gave him one last smile before you made your way to your front door. Bidding a final farewell as you walked out the door, you began making your way to the hotel, the path there already well worn into your mind. 

Upon entering the hotel, you were surprised to see quite a few staff members running about. Even more shocking was the sight of the hotel’s owner: a man by the name of Jean Dubois. You almost never saw him- in fact, the only reason you knew what he looked like was that you saw his picture in a newspaper clipping you had seen one day. You didn’t really read what the article had said, not particularly caring about the dealings of some rich Frenchman, but his picture, all crisp and dignified looking, had stuck with for whatever reason. 

Between seeing him and the frantic employees you immediately knew something was going on, though you hadn't an idea in the slightest of what it could be. You scurried your way through the lobby, sparing only a glance at the front desk. Upon seeing Charles, a flare of determination ignited in your chest; one way or another you were going to talk to him today and nothing was going to stand in your way.

As you entered the storage room, a lyrical greeting filled the air around you: a smile immediately appeared on your lips. “Hello, Avis.” The redhead was arranging stuff on the cart, her bright blue eyes trained on the towels she was organizing before they glanced up to you. 

“And how are you faring today, love?” The question reached your ears as you set your things down onto the usual table, including a coat that you had been smart enough to start wearing after your first shift. 

“I'm doing well.” You pushed your stuff into the corner of the table, neatly stacked as not to take up too much space. “Do you know what’s going on in the hotel? Everyone’s running around like crazy and I saw Mr. Dubois.” You heard a soft gasp and turned to look at Avis, whose hands were balled up close to her chest as she bounced on her feet.

“You have not heard?” You shook your head. Avis’s eyes widened before she continued, almost stuttering over words from her sheer excitement, “Emilia Ryder is coming to the hotel at the beginning of next month!” It was your turn for your eyes to turn into saucers, the name echoing in your ears. “Not only will Alistair interview her on his show but she will be performing in the ballroom right after!”

“Wait.” You raised your hand. You paused, blinking. Memories of when you had last been in the radio station resurfacing: the band had mentioned someone visiting the show- had they actually been talking about Emilia Ryder? “Do you mean _the_ Emilia Ryder? Mimzy’s protege?” Avis bobbed her head vigorously, curls bouncing around her face.

“The very same! Do you know of her?” _Oh did you_. She was one of your favorite singers of all time. Ever since Mimzy allowed her to make her debut beside her back in the early 20s she captivated your attention. Not only was she outstandingly talented, but she was also incredibly kind. Emilia was heavily involved in most political movements, helping those who didn't have a voice, even when her own unfortunately didn't amount to much either. But she was loud, and she was resilient, and for this you admired her.

“She's one of my favorite singers,” you explained, walking over to the cart. “She's the reason that I- uhm, well, you know.” You shifted your gaze to the corner, clearing your throat as you did so. Avis tilted her head at your sudden bashfulness, curiosity glittering in her eyes as you awkwardly picked at the fabric of your skirt. She tried leaning into your line of sight.

“I am afraid to say I do not know. What is she the reason for?” You tugged at your bottom lip with your teeth. A blush warmed your cheeks as you cursed yourself for the slip-up. This wasn't something you actively talked about. The only people who knew about it were Harry and your parents and, well, only one out of three responded well to it. 

But Avis was kind, wasn't she? Avis wouldn't judge you for something like this. Tell you it was no more than a pipe dream, a waste of time. “Well, she's the reason I… I want to become a singer as well.” Your words dwindled as you spoke until they were nothing more than a whisper, fingers wringing a spiral wrinkle into your shirt. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at Avis, even after you were done speaking, so you didn’t notice her walk over to you until her hands were on your shoulders.

“Truly?” When you finally did look at her, you saw excitement plastered clear on her face, delight brightening her eyes. You only nodded- too taken aback by her reaction to form a proper response. She clasped her hands in front of her. “Oh, how wonderful! This is such a lovely opportunity for you then! You must be brimming with excitement now.” She wasn't wrong; you were inexplicably excited. The chance to meet the one person you looked up to above all others was, as Avis had put it, a lovely opportunity. 

“Do you know when she's coming?” Avis gave a shake of her head as she gathered the last of the things she needed for the cart. 

“No, unfortunately, the date has yet to be set, or so I have been told. I imagine this is part of the reason Mr. Dubois is in a divvy despite us having nearly three weeks until we are expecting her arrival, for there is a possibility it could be sooner, after all, and he would not want to be caught unprepared.” Avis began pushing the cart towards the door, but before she could reach it the doorknob wiggled then suddenly turned.

“Avis? Are you in here?” A voice, heavy with a French accent, called out into the room as the door opened. To see Jean standing in the doorway of the storage room of all places was an astonishment; you could only watch as he glanced around the room before his gaze finally landed on you two. As he began walking towards you, he continued to speak, “Ah, there you are- who’s this?” Now standing in front of the two of you, his eyes were focused on you.

“Oh, this is (Y/N). She only just started working for the hotel not too long ago.” Avis looked over at you with a smile on her face as she introduced you. “What can we help you with, Mr. Dubois?”

“As I'm sure you are aware, we have a very important- a very _prestigious_ \- guest visiting us here at the Le Debut soon.” He tented his fingers in front of his chest as he spoke, sometimes pointing them in yours and Avis’ direction for emphasis, “The hotel simply must be in the best possible state it can be. That being said: I'm going to need one of you to work on thoroughly cleaning the lobby. It must be _spotless_.” You perked up at this. Charles was in the lobby, and the closer you stayed to Charles the more likely you were to find an opportunity to talk to him.

“I'll do it,” you blurted out, maybe just a bit too quick and eager. Avis looked over to you, opening her mouth to say something but being interrupted by Jean clapping his hands together. 

“Superb! Grab some supplies and follow me, I need to tell you exactly what needs to be done.” Grabbing a few things you thought you'd need, you waved Avis goodbye as you followed Jean out the door. While he led you to the lobby, he began explaining what he wanted you to do- it was a lot. Dusting, sweeping, and mopping were only half of it, and by the time you reached the lobby, he still wasn't finished. 

Your head spun as he talked to you, overwhelmed at how much this _Jean Dubois_ expected you to do. More than half of it was cleaning things you thought for sure no one would even notice. “All right, that's everything, do you have any questions?” You smiled weakly at him, giving a shake of your head. “Perfect! I shall be around here and there, but you can always talk to Charles if you have any questions. He knows what I expect out my staff.” You followed his gaze to the front counter where Charles was walking Clarence through helping a customer. Oh, you had questions all right. 

“Will do.” You gave Jean a smile before taking your cleaning supplies over to a corner of the lobby, setting them down on a small table. As you began to figure out what exactly you'd start on first, your gaze wandered over to the front desk. You wondered if Roger was here- you hadn't seen him yet, and if he really wasn't there then this really could be your chance to talk to Charles. 

You wouldn't approach the front desk quite yet, though. Clarence was still there, after all, and on top of that, Jean was still lingering around the lobby. It wouldn't do to have the owner of the hotel see you slacking off. So, you started with dusting. Normally it wouldn't have been the worst task of them all, but Jean had you dusting everything. Tables, chairs, the baseboards of the walls: nothing was to be left uncleaned. Every time you'd take a second to glance around to see just how much you still had left to dust, a disgruntled groan would leave your throat. There was no end to what needed a feather duster skirting along its surface. 

You were sure that at least two if not three hours escaped you by the time you reached the halfway mark. You leaned back onto your heels, wiping a bead of sweat from your brow as you glared a hole into the baseboard you had been cleaning. How they had managed to get this filthy was beyond you- had anyone even cleaned them before? Probably not- they were the baseboards, for crying out loud; nobody spent time looking at the baseboards, much less cleaning them. 

“I’m going to go on my break now. If you need anything Roger is in the back.” The sound of Charles’ voice made you glance over your shoulder to see him waving goodbye to Clarence. Your chance had arrived. Sure, it was a tad early to be taking your break, but you doubted anyone would really mind. Placing your cleaning supplies on a table in the corner, you watched Charles make his way to the front doors of the lobby. 

You were about ready to follow after him when a sudden hand was placed on your shoulder. Flinching instinctually, your mind assuming the worst, you forced yourself to look up at the person who had touched you. Relief washed over you in waves as you saw it was only Jean standing behind you: not the person who so often enjoyed invading your space. 

“I need you to spare a moment.” Oh no. “I know you’re in the middle of dusting, but there’s something else I need you to do first.” You fought back a wince, glancing over to the front doors to see Charles walk outside. You nearly sighed in defeat, your shoulders falling with the weight of another missed opportunity. 

Jean took you to the front desk. With a grand gesture, he informed you he wanted you to polish the counter. You blinked, not understanding why it had to be done right this second. However, not wanting to argue with the man who signed your checks, you begrudgingly got to polishing. At first, it was only Clarence at the counter, but it didn’t take long for him to need help. You could tell the exact moment he realized he needed it too; he turned white as a sheet, his eyes going owlish as he painfully peeked over his shoulder to the backroom’s door. 

You swore you could hear him swallow a lump in his throat. You watched him take a steadying breath before he began walking towards the door- every step hesitant, so painfully slow and careful. By the time he reached it, he was practically trembling. He paused a moment in front of the open doorway, fingernails digging into his palms, before giving himself a reassuring nod and calling out for Roger. 

In an immediate response, a slam echoed out of the room followed by the sound of something dragging against the floor, and then there was Roger in the doorway. His eyes were blazing and his ever-present sneer was as unpleasant as always. Clarence cowered before him, shaking like a leaf, stuttering around words as Roger continued glaring down at him. 

“Well?” Roger hissed, leaning down so his face was near inches from Clarence’s- you wondered where he got that from- and your hand with the cleaning cloth pushed harder against the countertop. Clarence shot up his hands defensively, backing up a step to get some distance between him and Roger. 

“I-I just needed some- some help! Uh, with the uhm… The ledger.” Clarence’s voice wavered with each word he spoke; it fluctuated from being a whisper to something just above a murmur, and you could hear a tremble in each word. 

Roger scoffed, rolling his eyes as he pushed past Clarence. “Of course you do.” His gaze caught yours. You immediately went back to focusing on polishing the counter, praying he wouldn't say anything. Whether someone heard your prayer or Roger decided you weren't worth the effort, you weren't sure, but he said not a word to you as he looked over the ledger

He explained what Clarence was doing wrong in the most aggressive and condescending way possible. It almost hurt to listen to so you tried tuning him out. It was rather difficult, however, given how piercing his voice was; it always was, you had noticed. Even when he wasn't necessarily shouting, Roger’s voice had a way of resonating in your ears, beating against your eardrums as if demanding your attention. 

You were thankful when you finished polishing the counter and did not hesitate to scurry away back to the corner where you had placed your cleaning supplies. You gave yourself a moment to calm down: having been so close to Roger caused a massive spike in your anxiety. With your eyes closed, you took a couple of steadying breaths. Guilt weighed heavy on you for leaving Clarence alone to Roger’s mercy, but you didn't have an inkling on how to help him. Glancing over your shoulder, you gave Clarence a sympathetic smile before going back to dusting.

As you cleaned, you noticed Roger did not return to the backroom. Instead, he stayed out behind the desk, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed as he barked orders at Clarence. That in itself wasn’t surprising- it was very in character for Roger, after all. No, what caught your attention, however, was the fact that Jean didn't seem to be bothered by Roger’s behavior _at all_. At one point he even went over to have a casual conversation with Roger. It was baffling; how could Jean be okay with Roger doing absolutely nothing and making poor Clarence do all the work?

You were kneeling on the floor, scrubbing vigorously with a rag at a particularly dirty part of the baseboard, when a sudden presence loomed behind you. Your body stiffened, your hand stilled. Hesitantly, you looked behind you. 

"Why don't you make yourself useful for once and take those bags over there up to the guests’ room." Roger motioned to the front desk where you saw a couple standing in front of it with several bags. Looking back at him, you blinked, trying to comprehend what he was saying.

“I… What?” His lip curled up in disdain, blue eyes narrowing in contempt. It made you shrink back- why did he always have to be so damn angry all the time?

“We're out of luggage carts, and Clarence is busy watching the front counter. So, again, make yourself useful and carry their bags for them.” You were still beyond baffled; was he really trying to throw his work on you?

“Can't you do it?” His blue eyes darkened, and you watched his lips twitch just slightly. 

“I didn't ask if _I_ could do it- I'm telling _you_ to do it,” he spat, aggressively pointing a finger at you. “Now hurry up and do it before I get angry.” You wanted to point out that he was already angry, but you figured it best not to. When you hesitated, Roger’s eyes narrowed, and in a voice dripping with venom he asked, “Do I need to get Mr. Dubois?”

“Get Mr. Dubois for what?” Speak of the devil and he shall appear; from behind Roger, you saw Jean approaching, his eyes shifting between the two of you. For a split second, you saw a smile curl on Roger’s lips; it was smug, condescending, and downright patronizing. Then he turned around, arms crossing in front of his chest, facing Jean as he stopped in front of you. 

“Ah, Mr. Dubois. I was just telling (Y/N) here to help our new guests carry their luggage up to their room. But, well…” His voice trailed off as he glanced over his shoulder at you, and your eyes widened in panic as Jean turned his gaze to you as well. 

“Is there a problem?” You stuttered around words, trying to come up with something to say- but you were too stunned. Wasn't helping guests with luggage not part of Roger’s job? Why was Jean on his side?

You didn't understand- couldn't even begin to comprehend. At a loss for words, you simply shook your head as you pushed up off the floor to stand. Unable to look at either Roger or Jean, you hurried your way over to the front desk, giving only a stiff nod to the couple before picking up as many of their bags as you could before following them up to their room.

How was Roger able to get away with so much? Not only was he aggressive, cruel, and hateful, but he didn't do _anything_. If you hadn't noticed before you definitely did now. The way he ordered poor Clarence around while he himself didn't lift a single finger played over in your mind as the couple thanked you for helping them with their luggage. You smiled at them, half-hearted and fake, before turning on your heel to make your way back down to the lobby.

The fact even Jean failed to correct Roger on his behavior was unsettling, to say the least. It could just be a matter of favoritism: Jean was close friends with Roger and because of that allowed him to get away with anything. But something about that didn't fit; Roger wasn't friends with anybody. He also didn't strike you as the type of person to suck up to anyone either. So what was it then? What was so special about Roger that he could get away with so much?

By the time you got back to the lobby, Charles had returned, but to your great misfortune, Roger didn't sulk back into his little cave. Instead, he stayed behind the counter, back against the wall, angry gaze watching the world around him. When he noticed you were back, the smallest hints of a smirk played out on his face causing a steady flow of anger to course through your veins.

The rest of your shift was spent desperately trying to figure out how to get Charles alone. You couldn't just ask him to go somewhere with you- could you? It’d be too suspicious, and even if you did how would you bring up Roger without making it then obvious and creepy? You were stuck and you hated it, taking your frustrations out by dusting just a bit too vigorously. 

At one point, you finally decided that, well, what did you have to lose? You were going to waltz up there and ask to speak to Charles- alone. Whether it made you look suspicious or not, you didn’t care. But when you turned around to walk over to the front counter, your heart fell: Charles was gone. Instead, it was a guy you didn't recognize. Roger was gone as well, but you figured he simply returned to lounge in the backroom once again since he no longer had to guard Charles from you.

Defeated, miserable, you heaved a heavy sigh before going back to cleaning. Another day without getting any information on Roger; how much longer would it take to even acquire the smallest clue about his connection with Alistair? How many more people will die before then? You hated this- you felt so helpless, and you were sure this was exactly what Alistair wanted.

With your shift nearing its end, you were beginning to come to the grim realization you wouldn't finish by the time you were supposed to leave. Sure, you were close, but you still had a few things that needed to be done. You'd have to wrap it up tomorrow, which you weren’t looking forward to- but perhaps it’d give you another chance to talk to Charles. 

You were in the process of gathering all of your cleaning supplies when, to your surprise, you heard Jean calling your name. You thought he had already left as you hadn't seen him flitting around in quite some time, but when you turned around there he was, walking towards you as he was putting on an expensive-looking coat.

“I see you've accomplished most of everything I asked.” _Yeah, and it only took me all day_. Nodding your head, you watched as Jean held up his arm, pushing his sleeve up just a bit so he could see his watch. “Wonderful. At this rate, you should be done within the next hour. Good to know you won't be here too much later than you were originally scheduled.” Wait, what?

You blinked at him, but before a word could even form in your throat, he continued, “I assume you will be here tomorrow, yes? If so, I will see you then; we've another day of intensive cleaning ahead of us, I hope you're ready- drink lots of coffee! You appear a bit tired right now.” And with that, he was leaving, giving you a brief wave of his hand as he walked out the front doors. Would there be no end to your disbelief today?

Reluctantly, you grabbed the broom to begin sweeping the floor. Today, you decided, was just not your day. To be fair, though, it seemed like luck wasn’t on your side at all lately- instead, it sat on the sidelines watching you struggle. It was starting to wear you down, your discouragement clinging heavily to your body. 

Shortly after Jean had left, around the time you were supposed to be leaving, you heard footsteps against the hard floor of the lobby. When you stopped sweeping to look up, you saw Avis walking towards you, shawl on her shoulders and bag in her hands. She waved to you, but upon noticing the broom still in your hands a look of confusion crossed her face.

“Are you not leaving?” She asked when she stood in front of you, and a soft, tired laugh fell from your lips.

“Mr. Dubois wants me to stay and finish cleaning,” you explained as you resumed sweeping the floor, collecting all the dust that clung to it. “I don't really have all that much left to do though so I shouldn't be too long.” Glancing up at Avis, you saw her brow furrow but a sympathetic smile was on her face.

“I suppose it cannot be helped; it would not be wise to go against Mr. Dubois’s wishes. Still, would you like me to stay to assist? It should not take us very long if we work together.” A smile pulled at your lips, and despite the gratitude you felt at the offer, you shook your head.

“It's all right, you don't have to. It really won't take me very long to finish.” In truth, it'd probably only take you about a half hour, which wasn't the worst. Plus, it would give Alistair and Roger a head start, meaning you were far less likely to run into them on your way home. So, in the end, it wasn't the worst situation to be in- but perhaps that was you trying to stay optimistic.

“All right, love,” Avis said, placing a hand on your shoulder. “I shall see you tomorrow then?” You nodded, and with a smile, Avis gave your shoulder a small squeeze. She bid you farewell, making her way to the front doors before giving you one last lingering glance as she stepped outside. 

Alone in the lobby, save the person behind the counter, you returned to your sweeping. It was completely silent around you, lulling you into a calm. Your thoughts wandered as you swept, your eyes looking but not really seeing. It was relaxing, almost, to be doing such a mundane activity in the quiet of a hotel lobby late at night. 

You were on your way to grab the mop when you suddenly stopped, a sound reaching your ears- or, more particularly, a very distinct voice you knew all too well. Your once relaxed state darted away from you, panic rushing you like a bull; you did _not_ want to deal with him of all people, not ever, but especially not now.

You glanced around frantically, searching for a place to hide. Your eyes fell on the front counter, now abandoned; you didn't know where the guy had gone but quite frankly you didn't care. You bolted to the counter, crouching down as soon as you were behind it. Your pulse hammered in your ears, the approaching footsteps just another echo amongst the drums. 

You couldn’t tell the exact moment Alistair entered the lobby, but you noticed he wasn’t alone by the second set up footsteps accompanying his own. You assumed it was Roger, but you were too scared to check. Instead, you sat as quietly as you could, holding your breath as you listened to Alistair rambling on about something or another. 

Even after his voice faded, and you were near positive he no longer lingered in the lobby, you still didn’t move. You had to be sure. You didn’t want him to see you normally, but you definitely didn’t want him seeing you crouched behind a counter so clearly trying to hide from him. 

The sound of a throat being cleared nearly caused you to jump out of your skin. Haphazardly, you stood up, turning around to find the guy who was in charge of the front desk for the night. He had an eyebrow raised, and you laughed awkwardly as you rubbed the back of your neck.

“I was just uh… Just making sure everything is clean over here!” The guy’s eyes narrowed, and you could have sworn a few beads of nervous sweat surfaced on your skin. “And uh, yeah! Everything looks good so I'll just… go” You took a couple of steps backward, slowly, and then in a frantic scurry, you maneuvered your way around the counter and back to your cleaning supplies.

Red embarrassment was painted clear on your face as you rushed to finish cleaning. It felt like eyes were on you as you mopped, but you didn't want to confirm your suspicions, so you tried your best to ignore it. When you finally finished, you heaved a sigh of relief, gathering your supplies and making your way to the storage room.

Exhaustion clung heavy against your limbs, making your feet drag. Cleaning normally wasn't so difficult, but the sheer amount of work Jean had you doing today took its toll on your body. You swooned at the thought of falling into your bed- face-first into your pillow. So, you promptly put away your used supplies and then scooped up your belongings. 

As you walked back to the lobby, you idly pondered over whether or not Harry would be awake when you got home. Sometimes he was, other times he wasn't; it was a gamble really, so you never knew what to expect upon arriving at your front door. If he was awake he was likely beginning to worry that you hadn't arrived home yet. Maybe you could ask the front desk to call home so Harry didn’t have to worry.

But as you entered the lobby, all thoughts of calling Harry vanished as your eyes landed on the front desk. There, talking to the man who had caught you hiding, was Charles. He was wearing a coat over his uniform, a knit scarf wrapped loosely around his neck. You stopped in your tracks the moment you saw him, surprise shining clear in your eyes; hadn't he gone home already?

When he waved goodbye to the man behind the counter and then began to walk away, you found yourself jogging after him. Calling his name, Charles turned to look at you- a smile immediately lit up his face when he realized it was you.

“Ah, (Y/N)! Do you normally get out around now or did Mr. Dubois ask you to stay later too?” He asked you as you got closer. You nodded, the smallest grimace appearing on your face, causing Charles to let out a soft laugh. “Yeah, when he gets in these moods it can be a bit overwhelming.”

“That's an understatement,” you murmured, making Charles grinned. He motioned for you to follow him as he walked. You did, listening to him chatter away about previous times Jean had gone on one of his cleaning rampages. You hardly took in what he was saying, however; your mind too busy trying to figure out how to best bring up Roger. Should you just ask? Or should you try to bring him up casually?

As the two of you neared the street, you began growing frantic. Charles wasn't saying anything that would allow you to ask about Roger, and you knew from seeing him leaving the hotel once that he went the opposite direction as you did. This was probably the last chance you'd get for a while to talk to Charles- you could not waste it.

“Well, I have to head this way, what about-”

“Charles,” you blurted out his name before he could finish his sentence. He raised an eyebrow, curious at your sudden exclamation. Glancing around frantically, grasping desperately at what to say, you finally just heaved a sigh. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course you can,” he said with a smile, soft and endearing. “I'm nothing if not an open book.” Despite the reassurance, you still gnawed at your lip. You looked up at him and debated whether or not this really was a good idea.

But you had no choice. If you were going to stop Alistair you had to do this. “Well… Last time we were talking you mentioned how Roger used to be different, and you were going to tell me what happened before Alistair interrupted.” Charles tilted his head curiously as you spoke, regarding you with his deep brown eyes. You fiddled with your skirt as you continued, “I was just wondering if you could tell me what happened now- maybe?”

Charles blinked, bringing his head back to its normal position. For a moment he was silent. Anxiety churned your insides, but after the moment was up his smile returned. “If you’d like- but I have to ask; why are you so curious about Roger?” There it was, the question you had been hoping to avoid. You couldn’t just ignore it- Charles had every right to ask. It wasn’t like you were particularly close to Roger, so a stranger asking about him was, well, strange. 

You didn’t know how much you wanted to tell Charles. It was true he had acted differently around Alistair, but did that mean anything? What if he would just shove your concerns aside as Harry had done- like everyone would likely do. 

Still, you had to tell him something: “W- Well... Roger just seems very close to Alistair and, uhm, there’s something about Alistair I need to figure out. I- I think Roger can help me.” You couldn’t look at Charles as you spoke. Instead, you watched as your fingers twisted into the fabric of your skirt. Charles was silent at first; you could feel him looking at you, but he said nothing, the quiet nearly suffocating as you waited for him to speak.

“Did he do something bad to you?” You finally dared a glance up at Charles; he was regarding you with a look in his eye you couldn't quite place. His question baffled you: you never expected anyone to assume anything bad of Alistair. So for Charles, one of the nicest people in the hotel, to ask outright if Alistair had done something awful to you caught you entirely off guard.

“I… Why do you ask?” Charles glanced away from you for a moment, rubbing his hands idly together. You wondered what he was thinking about, what he was considering; was he as worried as you to speak ill of Alistair around others?

“If I'm being honest,” he started, gaze returning to yours as his fingers fiddled with the buttons on his cufflinks, “I don't like Alistair, and I don't like his relationship with Roger either.” Once again you were astonished by his words. You had a suspicion that Charles didn't like Alistair, but to have him admit it to you made your heart leap: had you actually found an ally in all of this?

“Why don't you like his relationship with Roger?” Charles furrowed his brows, placing his hands back into his coat pockets as he leaned back on his heels, eyes focused on the ground as he thought. He seemed to be debating what he should and shouldn't tell you when he finally sighed, his eyes closing for a brief second before looking back at you.

“Roger’s wife died about five years ago in childbirth,” he began, removing a hand from his pocket to rub the side of his arm. “The baby... didn't make it either, unfortunately. Roger was- understandably- pretty devastated. He loved Grace: more than anything. He would have done anything for that woman and more if she asked.”

Your heart sunk a little; you hadn't been expecting that. It certainly didn't excuse Roger’s behavior, but it started painting a better picture for you. Charles continued, “For the first few months following her death he just seemed… Distant. He barely talked, and when he did it was only ever a few words. I was worried for him, sure, but I figured he'd come around eventually. I thought- well, I thought he just needed that time to heal.”

Charles sighed heavily again. He crossed his arms in front of his chest, fingers curling deep into the sleeves of his coat. “But then something just- happened. It was like he snapped. Out of nowhere, he wasn't the Roger I grew up with anymore. He was aggressive and had the tendency to be downright cruel. I didn't know what happened; part of me figured he had finally given up and let his rage over his wife’s fate consume him.”

“I'm sensing a but.” Charles took in a deep breath, letting it out into the world around you; you could see it in the air as it left his lips. 

“Raviene- the previous maid, that is- pointed something out to me one day. I hadn't noticed it, but she did- she was incredibly observant like that. She asked me if it was strange to me how much time Roger seemed to be spending with Alistair. I was confused at first, but she continued, telling me it just struck her how Roger didn't seem to tolerate anyone else except Alistair- a man he had never been known to interact with before. She laughed as if it was nothing quickly after, shrugging it off and saying she was just thinking aloud. But it's stayed with me ever since.” His words resonated in your mind even after he finished- their implications clear. Sure, it could just be coincidence, but you highly doubted it. Alistair had done something to Roger- had something on him and, more than likely, murdered that maid, Raviene, because she noticed. Between the way Roger acted and the story Charles was telling, you didn't have a doubt in your mind that you were on the right track now.

Before you could respond, Charles continued speaking, a sad smile on his lips, “I just wish I knew what was going on. It was one thing when he started acting the way he did, but he hasn't even talked to his sister in three years. He loved his sister, probably almost as much as his wife, but he won't even give her the time of day anymore: ignoring her calls, slamming doors in her face. It's like the only thing that hasn't changed about him is that he still takes Tuesdays off.” You instantly perked up at this, your eyes widening as you realized what that meant. You had Tuesday off and you didn't live very far from Roger- presumably. 

You were curious though. “Why Tuesday?” You asked, pulling your coat a little closer to your body. Standing still was starting to make the chill seep into your skin, but you weren't about to let it bother you, not when you were finally getting the information you needed.

“He was born on a Tuesday,” Charles explained, a humored sort of smile lacing his lips. “So he says it's his day- he calls it Roger Tuesday.”

“Roger has a sense of humor?” You deadpanned before you could stop yourself. The smile on his lips became pained, his brows furrowing as a deep sadness began overcoming his brown gaze. 

“He used to.” It was no more than a whisper. It tugged at your chest- it was clear Charles had cared deeply for Roger. No, he still did; you could tell by the look in his eyes as he sighed once more, glancing down the direction he would soon be walking. “Listen, I don't know what Alistair did to you, and you don't need to tell me, but please… be careful around him. I don't trust him. You shouldn't either.” 

You nodded, an appreciation for the man in front of you settling in your chest. Charles was the first person to validate your fears, to let you know there were people out there who would believe you. You were beyond grateful. A part of you wanted to wrap your arms around him to hug him, thanking him profusely until you ran out of breath, but you resisted- settling with a small smile instead. 

“I will. Thank you, Charles.” He returned your smile in kind, and then looked up at the sky. He stared a moment, gazing at the stars or perhaps lost in thought, but then he looked back at you. 

“I should get going, but if you ever need to talk, I'm always here to chat.” You thanked him again, watching as he waved you goodbye as he made his way down the street. You stared a moment, watching his retreating form until it turned down a different street. Even then, still, you stared until with a small nod you turned around and began to make your way home as well. 

The information Charles had given you might not have been exactly what you were looking for, but it was something and something was better than nothing. It was now clear an invisible link chained Alistair and Roger together. You were going to figure out what it was and smash it if it was the last thing you did. You didn’t care how many Tuesdays it’d take.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Real quick, I feel like I should mention why Mimzy's name is the same and Al's is not; it's her stage name, and I figured Mimzy seems like the type of gal who would realize she worked too damn hard in life to make that name mean something, so like hell she'd change it.


End file.
